


Next Generation AU

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Fiction, next generation au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: A series of one-shots, ficlets and Aus for my fanbabies of Overwatch Characters. I usually keep my work on Tumblr but I decided to archive it here as I would be devastated if I lost any of this.





	1. Elevated

**Author's Note:**

> McSombra Twins, Ana and Magdala. Reaper. 
> 
> Blood. Mild Gore. Angst.

Two men lay on the ground surrounded by screens displaying the entire facility. Black and red marks them as Talon agents. Ana and Magdala are in the center of one of their outposts, after all.

With the tip of her boot, Ana prods one of the unconscious bodies, still holding a machine pistol leveled at their heads.

“You know, Mama would be getting after you for being so slow right now,” Ana muses, almost bored. 

“ _Cállate!_  Their firewalls are good,” Magdala mutters under her breath, typing with wired gloves upon the many screens. 

The screens suddenly vanish, taking all of their data into the virus that Talon can never clean. The multitude of cameras doting the facility are now useless. Magdala straightens, grinning.

“Not  _that_  good.”

Shifting to share a purple holo-vid with her sister, Magdala expands the screens containing invaluable information regarding Talon.

“See? This is easy!” Ana exclaims, eyes shining in the shadow of her black hood. “If we can accomplish this, Mama and Papa will let us get implants. They can’t deny this.”

“We still have to get back out of here,” Magdala squeezes her hand into a fist, causing the screens to disappear in a harsh slam of darkness. “ _Vamonos_.” 

Pulling off their hoods, Ana and Magdala step out of the security room and into the hallway. A few unconscious bodies litter their path as they slip into the lower storage, but they won’t wake until the two girls are long gone. Ana strides forward, taking the point while listening for any footsteps. They swiped through the camera’s before frying them, no Talon agent will intercept them until they get outside and back to the hidden ship.

Magdala is focused, still trying to plan ten steps ahead. Ana is sure the mission is as good as done. The information is in their hands, and they’ve already taken care of half a dozen enemies that were in their way. Yes, they may have stolen through their mother’s own files to find out this information, and deemed it worthy of proving themselves, but it will be useful to Overwatch. Magdala expects that after their parent’s calm down, she and her sister will be seen as capable as Noé.

In the lower portion of the facility, a storage room holds crates of weapons and other similar objects, or so their information tells. It’s dead quiet in the space as the middle of the night keeps them hidden. Ana and Magdala creep across the open space, heading for the crack in the garage door.

Ana puts her hand in front of Magdala as black smoke seeps in through their exit point. The sisters still. One lifts a gloved, wired hand while the other raises a machine pistol.

The smoke materializes into the form of the Reaper. Ana shifts her stance, gripping her hands into fists as Magdala takes in the known terrorist. The skull like mask looms, tilting slightly at their persons. Shotguns are drawn from his cloak, aimed at their chests when he stops.

His mask shifts very subtly, but the twins both feel the shiver from his heavy stare shifting between them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growls like a demon, shaking with anger rather then disbelief.

“Can’t believe that your operation here has just been undone?” Ana asks boldly.

“It’s a hard pill to swallow, but you better get use to it,” Magdala throws in, still holding out the wired glove. If they stay together, they can take him down just like any other enemy.

The bone white mask shifts. The shotguns are still aim at their hearts, but the trigger is held under careful claws.

“That ingrate and hacker are screwing each other just to screw each other over,” he growls, causing Ana and Magdala to share a side glance.

“Is he talking about Papa and Mama?” Magdala whispers.

“I don’t know,” Ana answers, before facing back to the Reaper.

“We have everything on this place, and once Overwatch gets it, it will be nothing but dust,” she declares, still holding her machine pistol high.

“You won’t have any backup, we turned all the communication and camera’s off,” Magdala piles on, knowing that he’ll see the logic in the situation. 

They are leaving with the information.

“Good,” he says before pulling the trigger.

The blast rings in both their ears, but Magdala cries out softly. As if taken by surprised. Ana fires upon Reaper, but the bullets past harmlessly through the smoke of his person as he surges upon them.

“Magdala,” Ana yells, trying to tug her forward before feeling her collapse. Her lips part in a shout but it catches in her throat. The sight of the bloody, stumpy mess that has become Magdala’s right arm stops Ana cold. 

The smoke materialized. Ana jerks her gun, spraying wild gun fire before the butt end of a shotgun connects to her temple. Throwing her back, she sprawls across the ground.

Blood spills into a small pool under Magdala’s arm. Her eyes remain wide, unblinking as the Reaper kneels over her. A whimper or a plead falls from her lips as he rips off the sleeve of her ruined jacket.

Ana groans, hardly able to blink against the pain blooming in her temple, Her fingers slip against her jacket, pulling out an Overwatch commlink. Their only fail safe. She presses it, keeping the channel open to receive their location.

Still blinking away black vision, Ana begins crawling across the floor for her gun.

Reaper takes the ruined cloth and begins wrapping the dismembered wound. The removed part of her arm rests where she was standing upon the shot, out of Reaper’s way. Magdala cries out, squeaking in pain at the rough wrapping of the bloody stump.

She squirms, but only to part her lips and whisper, “ _No mates a Ana… por favor_.”

He stills, hardly able to perceive the name and the fumbling girl still trying to go for her weapon.

“Stay still, kid,” he growls. His claws finish wrapping her ruined arm as the black cloth becomes soaked with a shiny red. The stump ends at where her elbow was, and he keeps it elevated. 

Reaper stays only a moment, overlooking the shocked, fluttering eyelids of Magdala before he rises. The very fingertips of Ana just brush against her gun when Reaper disappears into a cloud of smoke. She stares at the last traces of his dark cloud. Swearing under her breath, Ana works against the blooming ache in her skull.

She staggers over to Magdala, finding the pool of red underneath her nauseating. Dropping to her feet, she stalls as her throat becomes clouded with emotion. She breathes out before taking her sister’s arm, and elevates it like Reaper did moments ago. Blood drips all over Magdala’s side. She doesn’t say a word besides the whimpers of pain scraping against her tongue, she only stares as if already dead. Ana bites her lip to keep from crying.

They have to wait… They have to wait for Mama and Papa to find them. She just has to hold Magdala now. Ana has to wait and pray that Magdala doesn’t bleed out before…


	2. Braid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magdala recovers from the injury Reaper gave her with Ana's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra Twins, Ana and Magdala. Slight angst. Slight injury.

“Ow!”

“You know, I wouldn’t pull your hair so bad if you would stop moving.”

“ _Lo siento_ ,” Magdala mumbles. “My arm—stump itches bad.”

Ana glances up from work on her sister’s hair to the remainder of her right arm. The white bandage neatly wraps the chopped off end above where her elbow was once. It holds close to her torso, while her left hand is held tightly in a fist draped over her knee. 

“Don’t scratch at it,” she said, shifting her leg to give extra space to Magdala’s missing arm. Ana sits on the couch while Magdala leans back on the floor. Playing with her hair has been a terrible habit since Reaper… but she can’t help herself. “ _Tía_  Mercy said you’d get it infected by doing that.”

“Aye, I know,” she says, having heard it a thousand times before. She steadies her head so Ana can redo a section of the braid in her thick hair. 

They spend a moment in silence. Magdala can’t see Ana’s lingering gaze on the crown of her head, and how much blood she violently remembers staining her before Mama and Papa found them. 

“What do you want to watch next?” she asks, turning her cheek to give a side glance.

“I’m tired of your cheesy mystery movies,” Ana exasperates. It’s the only thing Mama and Papa will allow them to do it seems, just until Magdala’s prosthetic arrives. “Let’s watch some stupid rom-com.”

“I bet you didn’t figured out the killer until halfway through,” Magdala challenges as she stands up. Gingerly, she grips the coffee table with her left hand for balance. The motion makes her stick out her stumped arm, before she hurriedly tucks it back against her. Her half finished braid slowly unravels down her back. 

She tenses. Rarely does Magdala ever show how much her arm aches, but Ana knows she’s hiding a grimace on her face.

“Did you take your pain meds?” she asks, nonchalant. Heaven knows Mama, Papa and Noé have asked her that with shrill, worried voices. 

“No, but I will.”

Ana leans back, watching her walk around the couch.

“Put the next movie in while your at it,” she calls. 

“Do it yourself, you have two legs.” Magdala teases. 

Ana grins even though she can’t see it. “So do you.”

“I’m the only one with a severed arm here,” she speaks blatantly, but the joke is hidden in her words. 

“You can still push a button.” Ana turns around on the couch to find Magdala’s deadpan expression. “ _Vamonos_!” 

“ _Eres horrible_ ,” Magdala mutters under her breath, but a lighter gaze touches her brow.

Ana has been tempted to jump up and do Magdala’s every wish, especially when she starts complaining about the itching, but her parents and brother have swarmed her enough with concern. Magdala is started to get overwhelmed and feeling frustrated. Its her job to make sure she still feels as she always has. She may be getting a robot arm tomorrow, but she won’t be any different from the dummy who reads mystery novels like their going out of style. 

“You’re so slow,” Ana complains.

“ _Cállate_.” 

Magdala passes by, placing her pills and mug on the coffee table. Her movement doesn’t slow as she continues on to the T.V., and choices a rom-com with a dramatic couple posed on the cover. Her bandaged arm moves slightly with her movement before she remembers to press it tightly to her side. 

“I’ll shut up when you stop wiggling like a baby,” Ana offers, already reaching for her loose hair when she sits back in front of her. The warm, calming strands of dark brown locks keeps her fingers from twisting in shame and fear of the Reaper. 

Quietly, Magdala swallows the pills before settling down. A soft breath leaves Ana as she picks up strands to lace over the other. Neither say another word as a cheesy song begins playing in the opening of the first scene. 


	3. An Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honora is searching for Soldier: 76 with the hope that he holds answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The daughter of Soldier: 76, Honora. The nephew of Reaper, Jeremiah. 
> 
> First meeting. Slight Violence. Blood.

Honora has traveled to strange places before. She’s chased fugitives through thick underbrush and across highways and even swam through a swamp once, but Necropolis is the first place she’s been that holds a calm and unearthly beauty.

She would enjoy if it not for the two vigilantes she’s looking for.

The full moon lights her steps as she enters the first temple. The tan stone is weathered with time but still standing with symbols and engravings of gods. Inside, it’s near empty, save for the few marks of someone’s presence. The dirt in one corner is swirled and settled, most likely from a sleeping pad being shoved up against the wall. Dust is disturbed against the brick.

Shrike or Soldier: 76 was here. Perhaps both.

She moves to the back temple. Shifting in her hunting jacket, the cooler Egyptian night touches her cheeks and nose. Once inside, she doesn’t find anything until she hits the stairs. Along the ancient stone steps jumps out another disturbed resting sight. The fugitives were careful to not leave anything behind to trace back to them. Unlucky for Honora, but she can still hope to track them to their next location.

The third temple is quiet, and echoes her boots. She kneels on the sandy floor. This temple was hardly touched, save for shoe prints going through here.

Her forefinger hovers over the print, shifting to let the moonlight reflect onto the ground by the entrance. Honora narrows her brow as she studies the prints.

These tracks are fresh, and matches none of the shoes she’s seen in the other temples.

“Honora Padovano,” a voice rises from the moonless back entrance of the temple. Honora’s gun is already slipped off her back and into her hands, aiming directly at the figure hiding in the darkness.

“Come out, now,” she demands, leveling her rifle.

The person steps into the dim light refracted off the stone from the moon. A young man, nearly her age if she could guess, with olive skin and deep brown hair. Prominent ears stick out behind his short locks. A long coat falls to his feet, adding to his shadowy appearance while a black undershirt travels up his neck. No weapons are in his hands, but the coat conceals his body and whatever gun is surely strapped onto him.

“I’m not here to kill you, if I was you’d already be dead,” his speaks with a intense but angry flair. His chestnut colored eyes have a strange ring of red to the irises. As if the brown color has a highlight of blood.

Honora almost rolls her eyes at the line if not for his sudden appearance.

“Who are you?” she growls, fixing her stance to better face him.

“Someone who can help you,” he says, keeping his palms up by his side although within easy capability to reach inside his coat. “In fact, we can help each other.”

“When I ask you something, you better answer me,” she adjusts her grip on her rifle, “Who are you?”

He huffs an air of arrogant disbelief, causing her brow to narrow even more so. His eyes come back to her, looking her up and down. The blue overalls and dark red hunting jacket she wears must not compare well to this boy’s black, menacing attire.

“Ghoul,” he answers, drawing the word out.

Honora lifts her eyes from the sights to squint at the boy. 

“Your parents named you ‘Ghoul’?” she asks in hard disbelief.

“No, you idiot, it’s a moniker. Like your’s is Hunter,” he exasperate, offended.

“The tabloids call me Hunter,” she explains easily, “I didn’t give myself that stupid title.”

“I didn’t give myself the title either!” He says, never losing his intensity but the edge of menace has long since faded.

“Who calls you Ghoul?” she asks, still skeptical.

He fumbles with his tongue for a moment before growling in anger.

“Enough of that,” he swipes at the air as if physically pushing away the previous topic. The motion reveals sharp, silver claws attached to his black gloves. “I’m here because Talon sent me.”

Honora tenses, glancing back down to his coat and the endless possibilities of hidden weapons.

“Give me your name, now,” she speaks lowly. There is no room for negotiating in her tone.

He draws his breath back slowly, “Jeremiah Santiago. Honora, Talon has an offer for you.”

She steps back. This is not what she set out to look for, but perhaps they have information regarding Soldier: 76 and Shrike, maybe even Overwatch itself. However, Talon is not something she can trust easily, least they decide to kill her after their little game.

“What is it?” she asks, still stepping backwards to the temple entrance she came through.

“Your skills are admirable and useful,” Jeremiah entices, “We want someone like you to help us change the world.”

A recruitment offer. Her criminal catching abilities have been noteworthy before. Talon must have heard of her, but Honora doesn’t know if they knew her ultimate goal.

“How did you know that I would be here?” she demands. He mirrors her backwards step with a forward motion. Almost looming, he keeps his intense gaze upon hers.

“We both have a common interest in Soldier: 76 and Shrike,” he speaks, alluring. “As I said before, we could help each other.”

She grits her teeth, tempted but ultimately, too wary. If they kill or take Soldier: 76 away from her, she could lose her only chance at finding out the truth.

“Does Talon know anything about the Zurich Headquarters explosion?” she tries. Her stance is focused in the entrance of the temple, and moonlight touches his lower legs.

“Talon knows a lot of things,” he edges.

No. Her gut is screaming against it. Holding the rifle’s sight upon him, she holds her finger steady. She’ll figure it out herself, or die trying.

She can’t fail to accomplish her mother’s dying wish.

“I’m going to have to decline your offer.”

He narrows his brow, angry, “You’re going to regret that when Talon is leading this world.”

“You’re not touching Soldier: 76 until I’m done with him,” Honora says, unfazed. She still holds her gun sharply upon his person. “Now stay right there or I’ll shoot you.”

“You have nothing to go on,” Jeremiah growls, baring his teeth for a moment.

He’s right. She could try tracking them from here, but most likely they’ve taken off on an airship or hover car. This is only a dead end. 

“If you help me, I’ll reconsider your offer,  _Ghoul_ ,” she pulls his moniker through her teeth like old gum. “Do you know where I can find them?”

He hesitates, curling his claws into his palm before looking back to her. A decision is made in his chestnut, red rimmed eyes.

“They’re at an Overwatch Watchpoint,” he gives, but steps forward. She keeps the sights upon the center of his chest as he looms closer. “We’ll stop talk again soon.”

He turns his back; the coat end swirls dramatically with his motion. Honora catches a liquid shine in his hair.

“Jeremiah,” she founds herself calling out. He stops, turning his face to peek over his shoulder.

“You’re bleeding from your ears.”

The young man scowls as he touches one claw tip to the red staining his ear lobe.

“That happens sometimes,” he growls.

“What are you?” she asks, knowing full well the Talon agent before her but she’s never seen someone not hidden behind a mask.

He draws his claw from his ear, curling it into a fist. A side glance falls upon Honora.

“The Reaper’s apprentice,” he says. In the half moonlight, his body fades into a shadowy appearance before disappearing entirely. A quiet swoosh like the rush of the wind brushes past Honora through the entrance, raising goosebumps and chilling her breath.

She turns on her feet with a tight grip on her gun but the young man is gone. Breathing out a shaky, cold breath, she shifts in her hunting jacket. The full moon shines upon the multitude of freckles scattered on her cheeks.

Shivering in her jacket, Honora steps out of the temple. 

There’s a new destination she has to get to.


	4. Misinformed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah is sent to captured Ana and Magdala, but nothing goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nephew of Reaper, Jeremiah. McSombra Twins, Ana and Magdala. The son of Sanjay, Kovalan. 
> 
> Blood. Canon typical violence.

Dimmed hallways and empty screens fill the watchpoint. Were it not for the surety of the two girls being here, Jeremiah would have wondered if it was entirely empty.

A little coy set up they have going. They think they can handle him.

No doubt the silent lock down is meant to lead him to the main security room. The girls, the daughters of Sombra, are either waiting there with traps and tricks in mind, or using this distraction to evade and hide.

He will only have minutes before the Overwatch agents return. He’ll be quick.

The curved glass and blinking warnings on the main screens are ominous. Darkness inches at every corner of the dim room as he crosses his body into a cloud of nothingness. He dashes forward, only appearing at the center of the monitors.

Jeremiah slips a flash drive between his claws and sticks it into the system. Silently, he holds motionless while testing the air. The files begin to download. Not his true mission, but a part of it nevertheless.

The softest cock of a gun echoes. He twists to face one end of a machine pistol aimed at his head before vanishing into the air. The dark haired, olive complexion girl behind the gun steps back at his disappearance.

“How many times can he do that?” she exasperates, searching the small space for him to reappear.

He materializes behind her, one hand reaching for her throat.

“ _Hola,_ ” another feminine voice speaks behind him, slamming the butt of a metal gun into the back of his head.

The girl just within his reach dives away as he lunches forward. The pain makes him growl, and he swipes for her, but only manages to catch her cheek and a few locks of her hair before she rips free. The girl behind behind him moves backwards into a dim corner.

Jeremiah turns on her swiftly. 

“ _Correr_ , Ana!” she shouts as he bares down upon her. She levels her gun at his chest but he grasps her wrist, forcing it to bend back unpleasantly. Her jaw tightens at the pain, but a squeak of pain never leaves her lips. 

Lifting her arm up, her short frame dangles easily in his one hold. He squeezes his claws into her wrist, but finds a silver prosthetic instead of soft flesh. The girl is all anger and narrow brow, a fighter.

Jeremiah tilts his head at the silver arm.

“You’re a little young to be losing limbs,” he comments, lowering his voice to match his looming threat.

“You’re a little stupid to be manhandling me,” she retorts, baring her teeth at him. The long, thick hair definitely belongs to her mother as she struggles to fire her gun. Her prosthetic finger squeezes the trigger, spraying bullets into the ceiling. It only echoes the shots loudly off the walls. It does nothing to break her free from his hold.

“I beg to differ,” he answers, lifting his gun to aim the barrel at her heart.

The Thompson gun flashes with purple wires. Hacked. Useless. He growls, throwing his head over his shoulder to the other girl. She lowers a gloved hand before flashing a cocky grin.

“You idiot,” he snarls.

A hand flies towards his face, but he drops his weapon to catch her small fist. Facing back to the girl he holds captive, he tightens his grip. Her surprise only lasts for a moment as he sneers at her.

“Did you really think—OUFF”

Her knee knocks into his groin with a force strong enough to make him half collapse. She struggles as his claws slip off of her hands. Pain flares, allowing a burst of blood to flow from his gums. The nanites in his body react with his anger, buzzing, but he still stumbles. Barreling past him, the girl runs to her sister.

He faces them and their drawn weapons. Side by side, there is no difference to their faces save for the claw marks bleeding on one girl’s cheek and the prosthetic arm on the other. 

“What are you, a cheap Reaper knock off?” the one with the metal arm asks. A clear, unimpressed curve to her brow insults him.

“I’m Ghoul,” Jeremiah straightens, allowing his coat to flair behind him as he faces the girls. A deep, enrage breath flows through him as he recovers from the attack. “I am not a cheap knock off.”

“Coulda fooled me,” the other girl says offhandedly.

He snarls, tensing his claws. They didn’t tell him they could pose such a problem. The daughters of Sombra were supposed to be younger, untrained. Not little shadows of their mother.

“So you want Overwatch secrets?” the girl on the right speaks.

“You would think they would want to send a professional, even Reaper himself for such a job,” the other one continues. “I mean, it just seems like they don’t want it done.”

“Talon needs guinea pigs,” he starts in a low voice, trying to keep the blood in his mouth contained. “You two will be the first subjects of our little tests.”

They share a quick glance after the startling information. Silently, they reaffirm their guns upon him.

“You’re not going to to take either of us, but what would it be for if you did?” the clawed cheek asks.

He grins as blood falls over his bottom lip. The reaction fills him as a mix of disgust and worry passes over both girl’s faces.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he promises, stepping forward.

From the glass windows comes a glimpse of an Overwatch dropship landing hot and heavy onto the watchpoint. Too late. It’s too late.  

He’s going to fail his mission.

A growl builds up in his throat before he turns on the twins. Behind them is the monitor with a ‘finished downloading’ screen.

He won’t go back empty handed.

Crossing into his near invisible form, he rushes on the air through the girls. They swiftly press back to back, ready for wherever he may appear. It takes only a moment to materialize. By the time they notice his location, the flash drive is in his coat.

Moira will have to get her guinea pigs from somewhere else. It doesn’t make sense to him to use the twins, aside from the dependent and independent variables, but it may be a personal vendetta against Sombra. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter now.

The girls rush upon him as a cry of ‘No!’ falls from both their lips. Iron spreads over his tongue as blood mercilessly falls from his mouth. Wiping it away with an intense gaze over the twins, Jeremiah vanishes once again.

The daughters of Sombra will be dealt with soon enough.

*

Jeremiah slams the door behind him. His claws curl tightly into fists as his blood boils at the failed mission and rebuking he just received. Talon is not impressed with his recent antics. 

To make the day even sunnier, Kovalan raises his head as he sits in a hard-light seat. A purplish light emits from the constructed furniture. Medium brown hair, and tan skin, his frame radiates an arrogant, manipulative energy ready to sway anyone’s thoughts. His grin already drips a sinister glee.  

“I heard how the mission went,” he pulls through his perfect teeth, delighted. “What a pity.”

“Shut up,” Jeremiah snarls, stomping past him to walk the length of the wall. He wants nothing more then to rip apart anything he can get his hands on, but now, he has to wait for Reaper. To rebuke him as well for his failure, no doubt.

“Not only did you not retrieve those two girls for Moira, your information was useless. All of the files download were coy, empty, fakes, save for a video of a sleeping puppy.” He pauses, considering the thought for a moment. “It was a cute video. Ana and Magdala must take after Sombra a lot.”

“They were not what I expected,” Jeremiah growls as his coat whips behind his impatient movements. He knows the girl’s names. Kovalan was poking into his mission details.

“You underestimated them.”

“I was misinformed.”

“Sure,” Kovalan says.  

Jeremiah turns on Kovalan. The hard-light chair disappears underneath him as he stands to meet him. The smug, certain expression settled in his cheekbones never leaves his face. Jeremiah only holds two inches over Kovalan’s height, but it is all the advantage.

“You’re a child, but Sanjay won’t be able to protect you forever.” Jeremiah speaks lowly, another opponent he has to show menace to.

“I wouldn’t call being 17 a child, but my father doesn’t need to protect me. In fact, with your recent screw ups, including being unable to recruit Hunter, I’ll be joining onto Talon official.” His smug grin never wavers.

“So really, I should be thanking you.” Kovalan’s gaze raises with mild interest at the growing sensation of blood falling from Jeremiah’s nostrils. “You’ve paved a clean road of opportunity for me.”

His claws press into the center his palms. The nanites infecting his body buzz with the thought of a dead body.

“Get out of here before I rip you apart.” Jeremiah breathes out, fully intending to keep this promise. His hard-light ability is nothing to the death he can create.

His arrogant stature remains steady as Kovalan fixes his perfect shirt and steps around him. Unfazed, and unimpressed. Kovalan has a tongue as slick and slippery as Sanjay’s, but it only enrages Jeremiah. At least he knows when he’s gone too far with him.

When the door clicks shut, Jeremiah wipes the blood off of his top lip, staring at it for a moment.

He has not failed to recruit Honora, not quite. The girl with the dark freckles and bright blue eyes will be Talon’s yet.  

He will make sure of it.


	5. Tears of Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah's moniker 'Ghoul' isn't just a scary title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gency daughter, Valentine. McSombra son, Noé. Widowhanzo daughter, Jacqueline. The Nephew of Reaper, Jeremiah. The son of Sanjay, Kovalan. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Gore. Blood. Disturbing Violence.

Valentine shifts in the ceiling rafters. On the equipment walkway, two guards stand idle, looking over the large warehouse. Talon has relocated some of its supplies, but they managed to track it down again after the twins’ incident.

Valentine drops onto the shoulders of the Talon agent. His grunts as she wraps her legs around his neck. Using her momentum, she topples them forward, throwing him off the walkway. Only a short yell echoes as he meets the floor.

When she gets to her feet, the other guard is already incapacitated. The red sash tied to her waist flutters as she faces Noé. His fists loosen as the remnants of a electric stun lay on the Talon’s agent’s chest. He quickly upholsters his revolver. Arching a brow towards her, he grins.

“They didn’t even see it coming,” he muses in pity.

Valentine nods as she motions for him to follow her. She retrieves her two short, sickle like weapons from the leather holsters hanging on her lower back. The kamas gleam sharply in the night as they come to another walkway.  

Noé is the only one she trusts to flank with her. Her speed and agility already make it difficult to keep up, but he makes up for it with silent steps. They have yet to be caught, but she isn’t about to jink their luck.

Crouching behind a banister lowering halfway to the warehouse floor, Valentine touches her ear piece.

“Jacqueline, how’s the view?”

“Empty, mostly” The french accent comes to her with a cool calm. “There are men coming up on the railing steps. I’m not sure on the numbers. Maybe two or three. They walked out of my line of sights before I could count, but they are armed.”

Jacqueline is positioned on the opposite end of the building. High in the rafters, she hangs in a corner like an insect stuck to the wall. Her crossbow lies in wait to cover them. Hidden, but easy to swat down if she’s seen.

“Very well,” Valentine creeps forward. “Take out the first one on the stairs, Noé and I will handle the rest.”

“Understood. Noé, don’t do anything stupid,” Jacqueline warns, sounding harsh but meaning it with the most sincerity.

“Me? Doing something stupid? I would never.” Valentine feels the grin in Noé’s voice and the glare in Jacqueline’s thousand yard stare.

“Focus guys,” she cuts in through the commlink as they press against the wall. Quietly as possible, they make their way to the opening of the steps. “We can’t afford to mess up this mission.”

“Right, mission,” Noé pulls through his teeth sharply. “We’re totally not being monitored right now by Winston and the rest of Overwatch because they still feel the need to babysit us.”

“We have to prove ourselves first, Noé,” Valentine explains evenly. It would be a lie to say she doesn’t feel the same way. Restricted and held like a child. She longs to perform the mission and battles her father does, but patience will keep with her for now.

“I believe your parents are acting a little more cautious after the other Talon warehouse incident, Noé,” Jacqueline supplies through the commlink.

A sour expression presses into his brow at the mention of that. To bring up what happened to Magdala will not leave Noé steady at this time.

“Enough. Focus.” Valentine orders, listening to the footsteps in the stairwell build in volume.

They hold against the wall. She looks over her shoulder to Noé, who gives a nod.

The first shadow of a Talon henchmen appears in the doorway. The next moment, the whistle of an arrow cuts through the air and causes a grunt and stumbling of bodies.

Valentine dives in first, jumping over the fallen minion. She throws one kamas. The staff end knocks into the skull of the second agent. Diving to the side, Noé aims down his gun. He pulls the trigger with an exhale. This finishes off the last agent.

She straightens, slowing down her breathing.

“There were three,” Valentine speaks into her commlink, notifying Jacqueline. Static bursts into her ear for a moment, unreceived.

“And then there were none.”

Noé starts as a clawed hand wraps around the back of his neck. The looming figure launches him off the railing onto the next landing with a grunt of force. Noé gasps as he lands on his back, struggling to breathe from the impact.

“Noé,” Valentine yells. Half stepping backwards down the steps and across the bodies, she snatches up her kama. She faces the cloaked figure with a strong stance. Bending her knees, she readies her weapons to deflect the bullets from the gun in his one clawed hand.

“Valentine Shimada,” Jeremiah looks over her, as if studying a view. His chestnut eyes are outlined with a circle of blood red, creating a look of menace. “Pretty tattoos.”

“They’re not just pretty,” she warns. The red dragons inked along both of her arms are reserved and powerful. He knows this.

She keeps watch on Noé from the corner of her vision as he slowly recovers.

“I know, and Talon wants you to put them to even better use.” He steps forward on the highest step, looming upon Valentine. Keeping her kamas between her chest and his sharp claws, she edges to the landing Noé struggles to get to his feet on.

“Think carefully, Valentine. Talon will give you opportunities to build your own honor and strength.” He keeps in time with her steps backwards. His dark boots step right over the fallen Talon agents. “You won’t have that chance within Overwatch.”

“Honor cannot be found within something like Talon.” She keeps a grim expression. Finally, she reaches the steps that lead to Noé. The bodies are right behind Jeremiah as he descends upon her.

“Ah, but you are— AUGH!” Jeremiah cuts off with a sudden shout of pain.  

Valentine flinches at the shot echoing within the metal stairway. Throwing a wide eye look behind her, Noé stands on his feet. Breathless, but he holds his gun with a steady hand.

“Don’t ever go after my sisters again, Ghoul,” he speaks. A glimmer of fire flickers in his honey eyes, but steady determination lines his face.

Jeremiah stumbles back against the wall, tripping over the boot of an enemy. Blood spills out of his right shoulder as it stains the dark coat he dons. Wide eye with quick, rapid breaths, he brings a claw to the injury. For one brief moment, Valentine sees only a frighten boy trying to stop the bleeding.

“ _A la ocasión la pintan calva,_ ” Noé keeps his gun level but Valentine places her arm out, lowering his hand.

“ _¡Oye!_ ” he yells, narrowing his brow in annoyance.

“Wait,” she orders.

Jeremiah lifts his head, cutting off Valentine’s nexts words as blood runs freely from his eyes. Tears of bright scarlet stain his cheeks. Her breath stops in her throat as his once chestnut irises are now an unholy red. Stumbling forward onto his hands and knees, wisps of black smoke leak from the bullet wound in his shoulder.

He crawls, growling like a beast as he reaches for the first thing. His claws find a Talon agent with an arrow protruding from his chest. Dragging the body to himself, he widens his jaw, and bites down onto the soft flesh of the neck.

Valentine’s hand flies to her mouth. A strangle breath leaves her in motionless. A murmured phrase of shock leaves Noé. Stunned. Immobilized by the disturbing scene before them, Valentine and Noé watch in silent horror as Jeremiah lifts his head. A chunk of flesh falls from his teeth as red drips mercilessly down his chin.

The smoke from his shoulder suddenly fades. No more blood leaks from the hole in his cloak, as if there never was one. He blinks slowly, revealing a more brown color to his irises with ever blink.

It’s as if he awakes from the nightmare he just performed.

He drops the body, horrified. Looking to the two Overwatch agents frozen in shock, Jeremiah feels iron flood his tongue.

Valentine brings her kamas to a defensive position in front of her chest. Holding there, she only stares wide eye at the scene. A sudden adrenaline rush floods her system as an animistic fear erupts at the sight of Jeremiah.

Noé doesn’t look away. He stares, as if unable to process the event that just transpired. There are still scarlet drops falling from Jeremiah’s jaw, and the fresh body bleeds slightly at the new opening in its skin. This didn’t just happen. He doesn’t believe it.

He curls his claws slowly. Jeremiah would find their stares of horror relishing if not for the fact the blood in his mouth is not his own.

Something is deadly wrong.

He taps the commlink in his ear, signaling a failed mission. In moments, his body crumbles to a ghost like wind. It flows up the stairway, and away from the still forms of the terrified duo.

They stay frozen for moments, before Valentine numbly reaches for her earpiece. Her stomach twists, as if she’s going to be sick. Taking a hold of Noé’s arm, she informs Winston to send in Genji and McCree.

She and Noé can no longer complete the mission.

*

Jeremiah falls into Kovalan’s teleporter. His stomach drops at the sensation of passing through it before they reappear in Talon’s main facility. Kovalan greets him with annoyance.

“You couldn’t handle the Shimada girl and the McCree boy for at least a minute?” he questions sharply. The black space like portal closes at the wave of his hard-light manipulation cuffs.

Jeremiah stumbles forward. His hunched form is nothing of power and fear now.

“My job is to keep Jacqueline off your back as you try to sway those two over to our forces. Keeping that scary chick from taking my head off is nothing of ease. Yet, I did my job perfectly. I even knocked out her commlink, but you? Oh, just wait until Doomfist hears about this.”

He brings a claw to his face, hovering but not quiet hiding his bloody skin.

“Jeremiah,” Kovalan demands, before pausing. “Wait… is that your blood?”

The door opens. Shadows move with Reaper before he full materializes in front of him. Kovalan straightens in his presence, never one to be smart with the leaders.

“Leave.” Reaper orders.

Kovalan throws one last, uncertain gaze back to Jeremiah, but obeys quickly. The door shuts behind him with haste.

After a moment, Jeremiah raises his gaze but keeps his hunched form. The bone white mask gives nothing away.

“Gabriel,” he says, almost like a whisper of fear. “Uncle.”

“What happened?” he asks with smoky steel.

A second passes as he chokes on the iron in his mouth. Spitting onto the stainless floor, Jeremiah breathes harshly.

“I… I tried to… eat a person, but it wasn’t me… It didn’t feel like me biting them. I felt… wrong. Hungry.”

Reaper only gives an indication of hearing this with the slightest tilt of his mask.

“What else?” Reaper holds only a voice edging upon fury.

“Shot… I was shot… in the shoulder.”

Reaper grabs his arm, hauling him up to his full height. His silver talons hook through his damaged coat. He finds the mark of the bullet wound, but Jeremiah’s flesh is whole, untouched.

“Aggression and rapid healing. The nanites in your body want dead meat.” Reaper lets him go, almost allowing Jeremiah to stumble to the floor. “This is your consequence, Jeremiah. Moira did not improve my curse upon you.”

Jeremiah doubles over and vomits. The puke is a bloody mess upon the ground. He chokes and breathes for half a heart beat. Reaper grabs his arm the moment he’s able to straighten. His claws tighten around his shoulder as he takes him from the room and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” Jeremiah asks around the stomach acid and blood in his mouth.

“Moira’s lab.”

“I thought you told me if I went back to her you’d kill me.”

“I’ll make an exception when you’re eating corpses.”

Jeremiah remains silent as Reaper still guides him forward.


	6. Pretty Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ana McCree steps into the worst kind of traps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra daughter, Ana. The son of Sanjay, Kovalan. Junkmetra son, Rohan.

To be fair, Sombra did let Ana and Magdala stay with her on the mission after she found them stowed away on the airship. When her anger settled down, she warned them to not leave her side at any time They’re now sneaking into a Vishkar building to get information, by themselves, without their mama’s or Symmetra’s or Rohan’s knowledge. 

Which, really, is their own mission.  

No where in the security plans did it say anything about a hard-light trap. Ana figures the purple glowing line keeping her feet locked into place when crossed as only bothersome, but it quickly proves difficult. Her and her sister managed to disabled their top notch security system, only to have her get stuck by this stupid mumbo jumbo hard-light.

“Can you hack it?” Magdala asks through her earpiece, on the opposite end of the building.

“Already tried that, but I don’t think it’s the kind of technology that wants to play nice,” Ana grumbles. The wired gloves are useless at the moment. She stands like a deer in headlights in a large, but thankfully, empty hallway. The purple cable of light encircles both her ankles, allowing no movement in either direction. The hard-light ends in small circular devices implanted into opposite ends of the walls, but Ana can’t reach them.

“I’ll double back around and break it.” Magdala voice grunts softly, most likely from moving through the small ventilation shafts.

“These nasty hard-light traps could be anywhere, so watch out. There’s no mission if we’re both trapped here.” Ana warns, a little disconcert at being so easily taken out of the fight. Her first instinct was to shoot it up, but that would take the stealth right out of their stealth mission.

“Mama would kill us.” Magdala sighs, as if they’re not already in trouble for simply stowing away on the airship when Sombra, Symmetra and Rohan came here. Sombra doesn’t even know they’re in the heart of a Vishkar building, or at least, haven’t arrived yet to drag them back to the airship. 

Ana parts her lips to continue their chatter, but a person appearing at the end of the hall stops her.

“I have company,” Ana whispers into her commlink before raising her gun.

A boy, hardly older than her strolls down the dark hallway. An easy, arrogance lightly tugs his lips upwards as he indulgently takes in the sight. A snarl silently touches Ana’s mouth as she levels her pistol at him.

She can’t move her feet, but she sure can shoot.  

“Wow, you do look just like Sombra,” the boy focuses on her. On his wrists are two silver bracelets, but they reach upwards into his palm. There is no doubt that they are something useful and deadly. He wears a Vishkar suit well on his lean figure.

Ana bears her teeth. Her hand does not waver with the gun held tightly in her grasp.

“For being the daughter of Sombra, I was expecting a bit more subtlety, but I can hardly blame you. My traps are unparalleled.” His superior, amber eyes only strike an aggravating taste in Ana’s mouth.

“And who are you?” she asks, frustrated but attempting to cool her tongue.

The boy’s chin lifts with an even greater arrogance.

“Kovalan Korpal, at your service,” he holds out his arms as if she’s supposed to clap. Ana leans back with an unimpressed arch in her brow.

“Could you jump off a cliff for me?  _Por favor_?” she deadpans.

His pride doesn’t shift one inch when he comments, “Cheeky, I see. Well, then, don’t be rude. Tell me your name.”

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Ana mentally hurries Magdala along. Too bad they’re not the kind of twins who can telepathically communicate or feel each other’s emotions or some other movie trope like that. That would be very useful right now.

Kovalan frowns slightly at her silence, before he comes back full force.

“I created that trap you’re currently finding yourself in,” he says, proud. “I am a master of hard-light creation.”

Ana raises her brow at him. Either he’s stalling for time, or stupid enough to want to sit and bask in the glory of trapping her.

It doesn’t make sense, why not just call the rest of the Vishkar to take her away?

“I know what you are,” she speaks sharply.

“Oh? Do tell,” he edges on, intrigued.

“A pretty snake.”

The words immediately burn her tongue as soon as they leave her lips. Kovalan lunges onto her mistake without hesitation.

“You think I’m pretty?” His innocent question hisses in her ears.

“I meant brightly colored,” she exasperates, already mentally kicking herself. “The brighter the snake, the more deadly it is.”

He’s handsome, but she’d rather die than outright admit that. A strong face, tan skin, with light brown hair that is styled perfectly back. Like a Clark Kent impersonator.  

He gives a smug little laugh. Ana grinds her teeth together, wondering if irritability could cause her to break her jaw.

“You’re smart, sweetheart,” he comments, as he begins walking down the purple, hard-light cable. She twist her upper half to watch him as best as she can while wrinkling her nose at what he just said. 

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Ana growls. Curiously, she watches him kneel at the wall where the hard-light touches. With a few finger taps to the center of his palm, he activates purple energy. Reaching out, he taps the hard-light cable trapping her ankles, and it disintegrates with small light particles.

Ana whirls on her feet to point the gun at his face in seconds. Calmly, Kovalan stands and faces her. That only makes her brow crinkle even more in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“I’ve already won,” he says easily. The air of overconfident sticks to Ana’s skin, making her want to scrub herself clean. “At the smallest moment’s notice, I can alert this entire facility to you and your sister’s presence. I’ve already stopped what you tried to start. Plus, this will look wonderful to my father when I tell him what I, and only I, did here tonight. All without causing a scene.”

He looks her up and down for a moment, before returning her heated gaze with a cocky calm.

“As I said before, you’re smart, sweetheart. Cut your losses and sneak back out of here.”

In one swift motion forward, Ana strikes the butt of her gun into Kovalan’s cheek. The fire burning in her blood moves steadily in veins as he stumbles back in surprise, holding his already bruising face.

The shock and insult on his pretty face satisfies Ana well enough. 

“Call me sweetheart one more time and I’ll knock you into next week.”

She turns, finds the air vent she crawled out of, and disappears into it without a sound. A grunt comes from Kovalan as he pushes off the wall, feeling the crushed veins in his cheekbone pulse painfully. There will be a terrible bruise on his face for a week at least.

Through the mixture of anger and insult on his face, the softest bit of curiosity touches Kovalan’s brow at where the eldest daughter of Sombra once stood.


	7. Rancorous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honora comes to Watchpoint: Gibraltar in the search of information and Soldier: 76.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The daughter of Soldier: 76 Honora. Gency daughter, Valentine. McSombra son, Noé. Widowhanzo daughter, Jacqueline. 
> 
> Angst.

“I’m here for information about the Zurich Headquarters explosion, and I am looking for Soldier: Seventy-six.” **  
**

The girl with the red swirling, tattoos dancing down both of her arms glances to the boy at her right. The look is suspicious, curious.

“What do you want with that information?” the boy asks with a spanish accent. He stands much taller then the girl, but that’s more due to her short stature then his great height. His hand is steady, resting on his hip right about the hostler of his gun. Olive skin and dark hair gives him away as latino.

“I just want to know what happened that night,” Honora answers. The Gibraltar island sends a soft sea breeze through her two braids.

The girl shifts her crossed arm. Her gaze slips over Honora’s shoulder to where the barrel of her rifle peeks out. Honora stays calm with her palms facing up, but remains firm. She won’t draw her weapon unless that girl decides to take those sickle like blades off of her hips.

“And what’s your interest in Soldier: Seventy-six?” the girl’s accent is different, conflicting. Some words come out sounding like an entirely different tongue spoke them. Her black hair frames her serious face.

“I believe he was affiliated with Overwatch at some point, and may be able answer some questions about the Zurich Headquarters explosion.” Honora sweeps her gaze across the two. The boy gives nothing away with his poker face, but the girl is harder, more determined.

She steps forward, regarding her silently for one moment. This stupid charade is wasting time, but Honora keeps still.

“What’s your name?”

“Honora Padovano.” She answers.

The boy narrows his brow. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same bounty hunter that the news are referring to as just ‘Hunter’, are you?”

Of course he knows. Honora almost rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but I am not here to catch a criminal. I am here for the truth.”

The tattooed girl offers a look over her shoulder, but the boy gives nothing to read. Facing her once again, the girl offers a slight bow of her head.

“My name is Valentine, and this is Noé,” she introduces calmly. “If you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to Winston. He’ll help you find the information you’re looking for.”

Honora steps forward, causing the boy’s sharp stare to flicker to her.

“And Soldier: Seventy-six?”

The attempt to hide her hesitation doesn’t miss Honora’s eyes as the tattooed girl looks to her.

“We’ll discuss that later.”

*

They take her to a talking gorilla, who calls himself Winston. It almost makes her start in surprise, but compared to Jeremiah, he’s not a nightmare. An omnic, or at least, a very finely armored man, and an honest to heaven cowboy, join Valentine and Noé in escorting her to the gorilla.

Overwatch is a lot more like the circus then Honora was expecting.

Both of the men are set on the rifle strap across her back, but she refuses to take it off or give it up. Formalities are long gone. Information is all she needs, and if it can’t be found here, she’ll look somewhere else. She’s not intent on hunting Overwatch agents, although many do have large sums of money over their heads.

Winston, who acts a little meek for the new leader of Overwatch, hands her over to Athena. The AI gives her all that they have on that night, and thankfully, the group leave her in peace. It may be simply because they trust the AI to watch out for any danger she may cause, but Honora doesn’t stall to think it over.

There is no doubt they’re researching her as she pours over the files and reports of the Zurich Headquarters explosion, but they have little to gain from stopping her. Slowly, the hand pressing against her mouth in thought curls into a fist.

There are only minor details she wasn’t aware of before, but it’s the same story. Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison began a fight that ultimate would destroy the building and themselves along with it.

To them, it’s a clear cut story of Gabriel Reyes leading a rebellious from within, and working from the motivation of jealousy. It can’t be just that. There is something more.

Her mother thought it couldn’t be so. There is nothing to support this, no evidence, but Honora had come to trust her mother’s gut instincts. It’s what helps her to survive now. It’s what got her here, attempting to find out the truth of her unmet father’s death.

“Athena, open the next file,” Honora orders.

“There is no more information on the Zurich Headquarters Explosion, Honora, but I could reopen up previous files if you would like.”

Closing her eyes, Honora rubs her knuckles against her jaw for a moment. A heavy, deep sigh leaves her nostrils.

“No. That will be all.”

Standing up from the desk, and holo screens with newspaper headings and classified reports, Honora shifts her rifle over her back. There’s nothing left for her here.

“Honora, Wiston wishes to speak with you again. Please wait a moment here and—”

“I’m leaving.” Honora moves to the door, already sliding it open. When her boot crosses the threshold, she runs into Winston, and two new faces standing off to each of his sides.  

But they are not new. She’s studied these masks over and over.

Honora squares her shoulders, looking into the red visor of Soldier: 76.

“Soldier: Seventy-six, I have some questions for you.”

He’s taller than she expected, but he holds rigid at the sight of her. As if a ghost has come back to haunt him.

“Tell me your name,” he demands, rough and grizzly, even from behind the mask and white hair.

“Honora Padovano,” she glances over to her other target. Shrike doesn’t wear a mask now. A white braid falls over her shoulder, as an eye patch conceals her right eye. Dark skin holds wrinkles. She’s not getting away from her now.

Winston glances tensely between the three of them, but stays quiet.

“What’s your mother’s name?” His voice pushes into intensity, almost anger. He steps forward, but Honora doesn’t lean back from the demand.

It’s too stupid to think about, but Honora still does. Maybe Jack Morrison did tell someone, even just one soul, about his secret love that he left back home. Does this man know about her? Honora’s mother?

“Lovota.”

It’s as if she burnt him, or stole all of his life force with that answer. The soldier leans back, taking a half step away as his masked gaze never falters from her. Silently, Honora waits for him to collect himself.

This is the last question she’ll answer for him.

“We’re going to talk outside. Come on, kid,” Soldier: 76 turns away from Winston and Shrike.

Her eyebrow twitches at the nickname, but she stays focused.

“I need to speak with Shrike as well,” Honora states. His swift but hard look hits her.

“I’m talking to you first,” he barks, “Get moving.”

He turns without another utterance, leaving Honora’s mouth boiling but her interest peaked. Marching after him, she keeps him in her sights.

She will not be leaving without answers tonight.

*

At the edge of the watchpoint, a grassy cliff overlooks the sea. She doesn’t admire the setting sun as Soldier: 76 continues to a little tucked away corner. Once he stops, Honora stands still.

Slowly, Soldier: 76 lifts his hand to the mask. It unhooks with a click.

Even with his snowy white hair, aged but still running with the best, the scars catch her by surprise. Three long, pink, jagged marks run diagonal along the center of his face. Blue eyes replace the red line of his visor. As blue as the sky on a clear day back home.

Something familiar tugs at her from the entirety of his face.

“I used to love Lovota,” Soldier: 76 breathes, weary as he looks to her. “She was my high school sweetheart.”

What were once tightly held fists loosens into shocked fingertips. Honora almost steps back, were it not for the fierce need to compare this man’s face to the statue of Jack Morrison, Overwatch Strike Commander.

The man her mother loved. The man who left her inside her mother only to be raised alone.

“You…” she finds her voice, accusing but low, “She thought you were dead.”

Deep wrinkles impress his brow. Braced but asking, he says, “She thought?”

Honora can’t still to move, only her jaw works with the cold blood in her veins.

“She died six months ago.” Honora raises her voice, no longer whispery. “Before she became too sick, she told me Jack Morrison is my father. Her wish is—”

Honora hates that she stops to clear her throat, but she does anyway.

“Her wish was to find out why Jack Morrison died.”

His scarred eyelids close, as if he is capable of feeling remorse for leaving her mother. As if he has any right to mourn for her. As if he was there to watch her fade into gray and then nothing at all.

Something spills into her chest. It burns her lungs.

“Even as she was dying, she was thinking of you,” Honora spits. She only gets an eye raise and an even more narrow brow. “And here you are, alive and well and playing superhero.”

“We said our goodbyes,” he levels, firm, but roughness touches his voice. “We knew it wouldn’t work with me in Overwatch. I was only able to see her a few times during that, but she never told me she was pregnant.”

He stare falls over her. As if he’s finding every piece of the woman he used to love in a younger face. Does he see himself in her? Does he care that he’s her father?

The liquid in her chest freezes once more. Lightning hot and ice cold in a matter of alternating seconds. Solid rock weighs against her heart.

“She didn’t… Why didn’t she tell you about me?”

It wasn’t voluntary that he left his mother behind with a child? She believed in a greedy, prideful man who couldn’t give up his glory to be a husband and father.

Why didn’t her mother tell her this?

She hates how blue his eyes are when he holds her gaze. Another mystery that will always hurt lays before him. Another challenge, another weight.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head once. “Lovota had her reasons for doing some things, but I never could figure out all of them. She is—was complicated.”

Her fists return to scrunch tightly. The urge to throw her knuckles into his face is overwhelming, but it’s not the right direction. Anger and resentment fill her throat before she swallows it down.

There is no one to rightfully unload her righteous fury upon. Not anyone alive.

“I don’t know if me knowing would have changed much, kid,” Soldier: 76 says. He’s trying to give some reassurance, but what her mother did still remains. “I couldn’t leave Overwatch, they needed me.”

He breathes out once, studying her like a painting with no definitive meaning. It seems her sudden existence only brings complications and more weariness to his bones.

This is all twisted and wrong. Did Honora’s mother set this terribly aching scheme up? Did she expect Honora to find the truth and not be cut in half?

“Lovota mentioned the name Honora before,” he tries, awkward. “She thought it was a lovely name, kid.”

All Honora had of her was her dying wish, and Honora fulfilled it. Jack Morrison isn’t dead after all.

But now, she has nothing.

“Don’t call me a kid. I’m twenty-six years old for heaven’s sakes.”

Honora turns away. Shifting the strap of her rifle on her back, she starts for the boat she brought to the island.

“Honora, stop.”

She starts pounding her boots into the grass harder. A hand jerks her arm back. Reflectively, she breaks his hold with a swift strike to his inner arm. As she pulls away, not reaching for her gun just yet, she finds his red visor back in place.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps.

“Where are you going?” he demands, rubbing his arm for a moment. It better hurt. .

“I don’t know. I’ve already trekked over half of Europe and Africa looking for you and Shrike.” Her rushed voice stops, pausing for a moment. “I’m going to find some criminals to turn in for money.”

“Honora,” his rough voice rises in anger, “Stay the night and resupply, but don’t be stupid.”

“Why?” She finds herself spitting. The lava and ice are clashing inside of her. She wants to turn her chest inside out. “I don’t need you. I haven’t needed you all this time and I most certainly don’t need you know.”

He grabs her shoulders, startling her to almost throw a fist but she stays in the red of his visor.

“I didn’t know about you, Honora!”

His shout echoes off the cliffs, tumbling into the water below.

Her mouth twists into a snarl that suddenly falls away.

“No, you didn’t,” she mutters. All of the energy inside drains away. There is only pieces of bitterness staining her stomach. Her mother couldn’t be bothered to tell the truth to anyone, but didn’t go so far as to lie.

He lets her go. A deep grumbling sigh leaves him as he straightens.

“Rest up for tonight,” he orders. “Winston will find you a room.”

Honora nods stiffly. Soldier: 76 looks over her again. A new light touches his person, as if finally seeing her in her entirety.

“We’ll talk again later, Honora.”

She’ll see about that.

*

An awkward, tangible silence fills the space between them. Soldier: 76 leads her to Winston, and then a bare room she can sleep in. He’s direct, focused, but also lingers with deep sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. Neither does she.

She wants to shout and run. She wants to run until her body crashes into the ocean but will just be inconvenient. An unjustifiable bitterness brews in her blood towards the un-dead Jack Morrison. She can’t direct it towards her dead mother, but some shards are still embedded in the tissues of her rib cage from the decisions she made long ago.

Honora wants to demand an answer, but here’s only one ghost she gets to talk to now.

“Get some sleep, Honora.” Soldier: 76 speaks this as an order. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She nods. The red visor stalls, lingering on the two braids draping over her shoulders.

“You look a lot like her,” he says in a low voice.

Honora lifts her chin. Slowly, she parts her lips.

“She told me I had your eyes.” It was one of the few times Honora’s mother ever mentioned her invisible father. And it was months before she died.

“It would appear so,” he gives.

He gives a grunt before leaving her to rest. It won’t come, so she doesn’t bother with lying down. After two hours of ruining her brain with tumbling thoughts, Honora slips outside.

She mesmerized the layout to the room. Meeting someone in the hallway is not ideal. From the wide display of colorful agents already seen here, she doesn’t want to have to talk with another gorilla or something else along those lines.

Outside, it’s quiet, but it’s too open and vast. There must be a word for the opposite of claustrophobia. This entire island creates a trapping, caging essence even under the roof of stars. Honora starts jogging, anything to get her blood moving.

Coming upon a large storage, she moves inside without thought. A small jet greets her vision, slowing her legs. It’s hooked up high along the ceiling. The sleek, silver design must be fast. She stares for a moment at the steel walkways leading to the open inside of the jet. It only takes a moment more to find the stairs.

A side staircase indulges her. Climbing upwards, the steel railing is open, and high in the air. It makes her heart race at falling but it’s welcoming. Anything aside from the bitter blood in her veins.

Something moves on top of the jet. Honora stills before narrowing her brow.

“Who’s up there?” she demands.

A figure stands in the darkness, barely silhouetted. Silently, they begin stepping off the side of the ship. In a moment of bewilderment, Honora tenses for them to plummet to the ground, but a rope begins to lead them down into a gentle descent.

A girl with a long, dark curly hair steps onto the railing with her. Undoing the grappling hook, she reels the metal rope into a device on her wrist.

“We haven’t met,” the girl speaks with a strong, french accent. She drapes one arm across her torso before offering a slight, elegant bow. With dark skin, she holds a graceful form to her limbs.

“Jacqueline Shimada.”

Standoffish, Honora angles her tense shoulders. “Honora Padovano.”

“I know.” Her dark gaze flickers over her. Judgement passes with a small raises of her delicate brow. “You’re the daughter of Soldier: Seventy-six.”

“Don’t call me that,” she growls. “Do you usually hang out in the raffers? And aren’t you a little young to be an Overwatch agent?”

Even with her hair hanging from a high ponytail, one hand flips her curled locks over her shoulder. A hard line forms in her brow at Honora’s tone.

“It’s quiet here, and it has a nice view. I’m sure I’m about the same age as you.”

Doubtful.

“I’m twenty-six.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “Twenty, but you are awfully bold to be assuming I’m incapable of being an Overwatch agent.”

“Did Seventy-six put you up to this?” she snaps. There is no patience in her bones.

“Oh please, I don’t care if you leave,” her eyes roll at the thought. “Though he seemed to be wanting to discuss a few more things with you.”

Honora tightens her jaw. She doesn’t know what to say and she doesn’t know how to react. This girl is doing nothing but tipping her boiling edge over. There is nothing here but a delusion at building something long since tainted. Outside of the watchpoint, with no mission, Honora is just another bounty hunter.

“This could be a good thing.”

Jacqueline startles her from her thoughts. Her muscles loosen ever so slightly at that.

“Excuse me?”

Jacqueline turns her head, looking over the jet and the storage room.

“Finding your father now, after your mother’s death, is intriguing if you believe in coincidence.”

Honora twists her upper lip in disgust.

“I don’t need him. Fate or whatever you are implying doesn’t care about me or anyone else. We’re all on our own.” She tastes salt in her mouth for a moment. “I didn’t need him for my entire life before and I definitely don’t need him now.”

“My point is,” Jacqueline almost bears her teeth, but cools her sharp tone, “sometimes we don’t want what we need. Especially if how it came to be was very unfortunate.” 

Honora snarls, “You don’t know anything about this.”

Jacqueline steps forward, challenging. She has length in her legs, but Honora is sturdier. She can throw her haughty glare easily enough.

“You don’t know what I know,” she speaks lowly.

Jacqueline’s gaze looks her up and down, unimpressed. Something about the way her eyes linger over her overalls causes spite to grow.

_“Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre.”_

“What did you say?” Honora demands.

“You’re too caught up in your own self-assertions to listen to any advice.”

With a swift, precise turn on the balls of her feet, Jacqueline’s curly hair flips through the air before she leaves Honora in the darkness. A retort rests in her throat, but she simply watches the girl leave.

Too much lingers in her mind, from Jacqueline’s words to Soldier: 76’s quiet anguish at the news of Lovota’s death.

Now she’s tired enough to sleep.  


	8. Black Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new agent is brought to the watchpoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gency kids, Valentine and Taro. The student of Zenyatta, Chimini.

“Zenyatta has someone he’d like us to meet,” Valentine says. Down the hallway, she and her brother walk to the airship landing.

Taro gazes curiously at her. Their father’s master has been away for nearly two weeks to Nepal. Although he had believed the omnic monk was no longer welcome there, Zenyatta’s brothers and sisters had requested his assistance with a pupil they had taken on.

“His new student?” Taro clarifies. Zenyatta has brought them here to the watchpoint? Does he hope to have them performing as an agent?

“It would seem so,” she muses, not certain herself. “We’ll find out soon.”

Taro’s brow is held in curiosity as they hurry outside. The wind sweeps gently across the Gibraltar island, but Tracer made a safe landing in the Orca. Crowded just outside of the open hatch of the airship, Tracer, Genji, and Zenyatta converse.

Valentine and Taro make their way to the airship, finding Tracer shaking hands with robotic fingers. An omnic, Taro guesses, before he finds the person’s entire body.

“Valentine, Taro,” their father greets. His visor glows brightly due to his master’s safe return. “Come here.”

“Zenyatta,” Valentine bows slightly, “I’m glad to see you return safely.”

“Thank you, Valentine” the omnic’s voice buzzes gently. “I wish to introduce you to my new student.”

Taro’s lips part slowly. A girl stands tall, two inches above him. Her almond shaped eyes move to his, smiling with an internal light. The warmth coming off of her person already warms his cheeks. In the sunlight, reflective metal catches his eye. A bronze necklace of large, circular disks rests around her shoulders as a sort of necklace.

“Chimini Thapa has agreed to follow me back to Overwatch, and learn my teachings here.” Zenyatta floats besides his newest student. There is only confidence in his robotic tones.

“ _Namastē_ ,” she says, speaking like the sun.

“Chimini,” Genji interjects, “This is my daughter and son.”

“I’m Valentine.” She steps forward, slowly extending her hand. Chimini doesn’t hesitate to grasp Valentine’s fingers in a happy handshake with her prosthetic fingers.

Loose, brown harmon pants stop at just her knees. Her calves and sandals show off bronze prosthetics. Just for one moment, Taro wonders if her left prosthetic only goes to her knee, while the right serves as her entire leg.

“It’s wonderful to have a student of the Shambli with us.” Valentine smiles, intrigued by Chimini’s openness of her prosthetic limbs.

“I’m just lucky my master decided to put up with me here,” she laughs, earning a chuckle from Zenyatta as well.

Taro looks away for a moment. The sound of her voice echoing so playfully almost stalls all of his brain function.

“What’s your name?”

Taro flinches back forward, staring wide eye at her sudden attention. Chimini’s eyes hold like black velvet. The dark color is soft and muted, mimicking the rest of her person.

But she doesn’t just look soft. An orange, loose tank top holds to her torso. It causes her to appear free moving even as she stands still in the breeze. Both her lower arms are prosthetics shimmering with bronze material. Stopping at her elbows, her olive complexion carries up her natural biceps and triceps, which are very toned and firm. There is strength inside her body.

Taro wonders for a heart stopping movement if she could toss him over her shoulder like a bag of flour.

“Taro.” He finally breathes out. “My name is Taro. It’s nice to meet you.”

He shakes her hand, finding the prosthetic smooth and warm. Her grasp is light but firm all at once.

“It’s nice to meet you, Taro.” Her smile touches upon his soul. The sudden urge to clear his throat almost makes him choke.

The breeze picks up, tossing her short bob cut hair. She closes her eyes as a dainty, bronze finger brushes the hair out of her face. The black, ruffled locks are almost too short to tuck behind her ears, but she manages.

“I… I like your name,” he says, before collapsing onto himself internally. What kind of compliment is that?

“Thank you!” she beams softly, delighted. His insides threaten to melt at her bright, kind expression. “It means light.”

He nods once more, before falling back into place besides Valentine. There is nothing to will his tongue to move again, or even his lungs.

“Let’s introduce you to Winston, and then we’ll let you settle into your room, Chimini,” Tracer speaks, excited. She begins leading Zenyatta and his new student into the watchpoint.

“We’ll be a moment,” Genji calls. Across the airship runway, they leave behind Genji and his children.

Taro feels his lungs move freely since he first stepped outside. Lifting his head, he finds his father and sister looking at him.

“What?”

“What do you think of Chimini?” Genji asks, visor steady.

“She’s nice,” he says, acutely aware of their undivided attention.

“That’s all?” Valentine gently pries.

“I just met her,” he drops his tone into something defensive, even though he’s not sure what for. “But I’d like to talk with her more.”

Genji nods once, “I’m sure Zenyatta would let you show her around the watchpoint tomorrow.”

Taro’s brow raises in eagerness, before he calms himself at Valentine’s slight amusement.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”


	9. Another Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah still wants Honora to reconsider his offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The daughter of Soldier: 76, Honora. The nephew of Reaper, Jeremiah.

“Hunter.”

Her person stalls at just the call, but it’s more of a show of annoyance rather then surprise. Turning, Honora’s hard expression already bears down upon him.

“Don’t call me that.” She shifts her rifle still strapped on her body to rest against her back. He hasn’t drawn his thompson gun either, but he does drift closer. Quietly, his long coat whips across the ground.

“It’s who you are, isn’t it? A hunter,” he presses. Even as she stands on the edge of the pier, she isn’t fazed by the dark, calm night or the still ocean.

“Are you really a ghoul?” she asks flatly.

Jeremiah curls his clawed gloves into fists. She knows about his person well enough, or at least what the news reports. Sometimes, he can still taste the blood from the person he just try to take a chuck of flesh out of. It could be she doesn’t take him seriously however.

“Maybe I am,” he tries for cryptic, earning her rolling eyes.

He stops in front of her. She shifts slightly, just to rest her hand on the wooden stock of her rifle. A warning. With her back to the ocean, the dark freckles on her olive complexion appear like stars.

“Did you find what you were looking for at the watchpoint?”

Her brow somehow narrows more. “No.”

She has conviction, but Jeremiah sees the lies.

“Have you thought about my offer?” He looms slightly, wanting her gaze upon him, but it still slips to the water for a moment. A moment of doubt is all that is needed to plant a seed of new direction.

“I’m never going to join your ranks. You’re all terrorists and monsters.”

Jeremiah scowls. Did Overwatch convince her to join their side?

“So you’re with them now?” He jerks his thumb out over the water, back to where the Gibraltar island resides.

“No,” she says, then turns her head. The two, chocolate braids along her shoulders move with the motion. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, no? I think it is, Honora.” He steps closer. His hands hold out at his sides, claws ready. “Talon would give a lot to have someone like you with us.”

“Do you mean you would?” she snarls, firmly standing before him. “You only want to bring back a trophy so they can pat you on the head.”

“I don’t see you as a trophy,” he starts. The fire in her terribly blue eyes puts the water to shame. “I see an invaluable ally.”

“What makes you think I want to be your ally?” her voice drops low. The anger of her brow makes her lips part.

“I think you want a lot of things you don’t think you want.”

He’s close now, close enough to notice the texture of her soft hair. If he wanted to, he could trace a constellation into the freckles on her cheeks.

“You don’t know anything about what I want, Jeremiah.” The tone she pulls his name through is dangerous and pretty.

“Let me try and guess.”

It’s a new hunger. A craving he couldn’t name until now. Even stronger then the urge that overwhelms his entire person when a fresh corpse lingers in the air. Something that even dark science and hidden machines can’t still.

He takes her chin gently with his talons, but she doesn’t flinch. There is no fear that can shake her bones. A new crease in her brow springs forth, but he doesn’t allow her time to think.

Leaning down to reach her, he finds her lips. Only for a heartbeat does he taste the blue brush and evergreen along her soft mouth. A quiet sound of surprise escapes her throat, but he lets go before she moves.

Her gaze is wide, lost of the hard anger she usually possess. She doesn’t immediately shoot him. That’s a good sign. Jeremiah finds her stunned, but slowly collected face as promising.

Doubt rims the blue of her eyes. He allows a smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Think a little harder on my offer, Honora,” he speaks, before shifting his body into black smoke. His escape leaves her on the pier, still bothered, but confused.


	10. Waterfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honora meets Jeremiah in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The daughter of Soldier: 76, Honora. The nephew of Reaper, Jeremiah.

The sun is warm, but not too much that it overheats her skin. In dark sunglasses and the borrowed clothes of Jacqueline, Honora steps out of the hover car. The taxi leaves her in seconds at the edge of the treeline.

Looking over the empty dirt road for a moment, Honora kneels and unzips her rifle from it’s cloth case. The blue case folds easily and goes into her backpack. She gets to her feet before slipping the rifle strap over her body. The wood is cool, but it will grow warm in a second. 

“You really like that gun.”

Black smoke slips from the treelines. Slowly wising over to her person, it quickly comes back together as his person. Standing almost too close, his taller person looms slightly. His dark skin touches the sunlight.

“If any Talon goons are waiting to ambush me, I will shoot you first.”

“Of course you will,” he looks away for a moment. “Follow me, it will take a while to get there.”

Though still donning a black coat, with gloves equipped with sharp talons, she can’t find an impression of a gun hiding along his person. She watches the sun dance upon his short, black hair for a moment as he begins stepping between the trees.

“Where are we going?” she asks, shifting her rifle to rest between her shoulder blades.

“Up the hill. Don’t worry,” he throws his gaze back to her, “It won’t take so long that Overwatch will start to wonder where you are… or who you’ve been with.”

Her eyes roll heavenward at his tone. Someone like Jeremiah is not something one speaks about to others. It’s none of their business anyways.

She begins hiking behind him a few feet. Mostly, it’s a time for her to study his tracks. She still remembers his footsteps from Necropolis, but studies the deep impressions and spread of his walk anyways.

A few times, her eyes stray to his back. Even underneath the thick fabric, she can find the outline of define muscles lining his shoulders. His walk is firm and bold, confident. Once or twice, she takes in the size of his hands. Large enough to hold hers within his palm and then some.

She curses herself away from such thoughts.

The incline increases over a course of ten feet. Rising with the ground, Honora curiously peeks around Jeremiah to the distant roar in the distance. There shouldn’t be any bears nearby. Then, the sound turns into a continuous uproar.

She thinks of the word the moment before Jeremiah steps up to the edge and gestures to her. A rocky lift stands between her and the view, but he offers his talons.

“You didn’t come all this way just to stand there,” he states.

She narrows her brow at this, but still takes his hand, “No, I didn’t.”

Helping her get a foot up, Jeremiah steadies her for a moment before dropping her fingers. Honora blinks at the mist rising before parting her lips to the moisture in the air.

A waterfall crashes below them, nearly one hundred feet of liquid free falling. The roar fills her eardrums, but it settles comfortably within her. A romantic scene.

She turns on him.

“Is this a date?”

His brow lifts slightly in surprise at her suspicious tone, “I thought you would enjoy the sight.”

“Taking a hike into the woods where you could easily kill me isn’t very romantic, Jeremiah.”

“Is this not pretty to you?” he demands, lashing out in frustration.

The indentation to her brow doesn’t leave.

“Jeremiah, I’m not joining Talon.” Her hand slips to grasp the butt of her gun, but doesn’t outright take it into her arms. “Stop this manipulation now.”

She knew that kiss on the pier was only a tactic. Another strategy to get her on board. Why is she indulging this? His only concern his pleasing his higher-ups.

“I didn’t bring you here to talk about Talon,” he snarls in the thunder of the waterfall. “Yes, I still want you to join us but this is only for you.”

After a pause, he swears under his breath. 

“You are impossible to please.”

Honora bears her teeth. “What did that kiss mean?”

His chestnut irises level with hers. Suddenly, he’s too close but she doesn’t back down. She only leans forward in spite.

“That I wanted to kiss you,” he seethes lowly.

“You’re a murderer,” she says.

“You’ve killed, too. Don’t play holier-than-thou, Honora. It doesn’t look good on you.”

“I am not playing at anything,” she almost snarls, breathing in the mist of the waterfall. “I killed because I had to, Jeremiah.”

“Blood is blood. It’s on both of our hands.” His eyes fall over her person. “Must you always be so cynical?”

She straightens at this. Turning away from the brown and red ringed stare, she takes in the crashing of the water. It fills her. Slowly, her fists unravel.

This could only be an act of manipulating her into Talon, but even if her feelings were so apparent, she wouldn’t join Talon for him. He’s a terrible actor anyways. She knows this. That kiss felt like a dare, to see what she would do out of his own interest, not of a third party.

She doesn’t know enough about him… The whispers of the things he’s done are disturbing. But, he stands before her with a fight and anger similar to her own. There is no pretending of being a hero. He’s only out for what he does best. 

Isn’t that what she’s doing now?

Is she his exhilaration? A blood rush to the head? A crush?

She turns, and crashes her kiss into him. His breath stalls at her sudden motion, but she doesn’t stop. Taking her waist, he drags her closer to the edge. He’s hungry. He’s so hungry but she’s been starving.

His warmth spreads across her lips. It almost hurts to indulge in, but the physical contact speeds up her heart. Just like the kiss that stop her brain and stilled her lungs on the pier.

It’s pathetic how much she likes his kiss. As if she’s gone years without sunlight only to touch it upon his lips.


	11. Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his sisters unhelpful persuasion, Noé asks Jacqueline a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Noé. McSombra Twins, Ana and Magdala. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline. 
> 
> Slight Angst

“Hey, Jacqueline,” Ana calls out, rushing to the dark skin girl. The hallway is thankfully empty in the watchpoint aside from them. Noé growls out a warning, but Magdala is already sauntering up to surround Jacqueline.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks, amused at the pretty bats of eyes the twin girls give her. Finally standing before her, Noé finds his heart crawling up into his throat.

“Oh nothing, just a little secret we want to share with you,” Magdala smirks, teasing a look to her frowning, older brother. The little fiends know exactly how to pester him to death. He’ll get after them later, when there are no witnesses.

“Hm, a secret,” Jacqueline raises her brow upon him. Evilly entertaining them at his expense. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Noé, does it?”

“Ana, Magdala,” he hisses, “ _Sal de aquí!_ ”

This isn’t how he wanted it. Not at all. The thought of asking her the question still freezes his lungs and stalls his brain. She’s so elegant and tall. The way she can catch and throw back his banter is almost too perfect. Her killer glare is as familiar as the back of his hand.

“Maybe,” Ana teases, as if he never spoke.

Magdala leans on Jacqueline’s arm, “Do you want to hear it?”

“I’ll give you two money if you leave Jacqueline alone.”

Magdala’s honey brown eyes sharpen upon him, smiling with the edge of victory. “Twenty bucks.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen,” Ana pipes up. “Each.”

“Little monsters,” Noé mutters under his breath, earning Jacqueline’s nearly invisible smile. “Fine.”

“Thanks, big bro.” Magdala chirps.

“ _Sal de aquí!_ ” he shoos them off. Their giggles echo off the walls as they hurry out of the hall. The last of their brown hair disappears when they turn the corner. Left in their wake, a still amused Jacqueline observes Noé’s grumpy state.

“Your sisters are cute.”

“Yeah, downright adorable,” he mutters sarcastically.

She crosses her arms to his bothered person Her stare turns into a waiting gaze as she still holds a small grin. She won’t let him go until he gives up what his sisters were going on about.

They’ve been friends since they were children. There really is no reality he can picture where Jacqueline isn’t permanently a part of his life, whether platonically or romantically. It’s only been recently that he’s find himself noting how soft her lips are, or how well she knows his weaknesses and virtues, almost better then himself. There are very few he’d rather talk to then her.

Breathing out, Noé squares his shoulders before her.

“There’s a romantic comedy show playing at the theater. I was thinking we could hit that tomorrow night, if you’d like.”

The smile falls away into something unreadable as Jacqueline’s crossed arms drop to her side. One black curl falls against her face.

“There’s also a restaurant I found that I’d like to take you to afterwards. It serves French delicacies, but you’ll have to tell me if it’s comparable to what your mom makes—”

“Noé, stop,” Jacqueline holds out one hand, palm facing him. His teeth come together with a sharp clatter. All at once, he feels cold.

A knitted knot falls into the center of her brow as she finds the next word.

“No.”

The black irises he’s come to know deeply, stare back with stone. A stinging sensation begins growing into his rib cage, but the puzzlement of her answer still holds him hostage.

“Okay,” he speaks with stunned lips.

She doesn’t look away, which makes it almost painful to see her closed off person. She’s never been guarded around him. In the cracks of her wall, he finds the smallest hint of reluctance.

“Jacqueline,” he tries, “Can I ask why?”

She shifts, crossing her arms back over her chest. As if putting more space between them. Noé finds his mouth becoming dry at the sight.

“It’s better if we stay like this, instead of taking it farther,” she says with a cool breath. 

Jacqueline turns, tucking back a few strands of her wild, curly hair. For a heartbeat, she parts her lips again, but says nothing. Quietly, she steps away. The swing of her ponytail keeps with him until she disappears around the corner.

He takes a step back, as if physically feeling her rejection now. Does she truly not see a romantic future for them? Or is their friendship so apparent that she doesn’t want anything more? There is a relief of always being her friend, as he doesn’t want to lose what they already have between them, but he doesn’t find the logic in the situation.

The next step he wants to take isn’t what she wants. He will respect her answer, but eventually, he wants to understand why exactly she said no.

She has her reasons, she always does.


	12. Reasons (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacqueline realizes that she’s afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Noé. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline.
> 
> Slight Angst. Fluff.

Jacqueline knows her strengths and weaknesses. She is prideful and superior, standoffish when she wants to be. Stubbornness runs through her veins as much as her conviction of helping others. She knows exactly what she wants and nothing less.

She doesn’t want to lose Noé.

There was a time when she was younger, and towered above Noé. She was relentless with her teasing. Until his growth spurt kicked in and he shot above her height with ease. Then, his stupid smirks annoyed her to no end.

She is fearful of losing the people she loves. The time before her parents found her is lost to the dark spaces of her memory, but she still holds the fright of separation. Even know, she still goes to her mother or father for comfort.

She goes to Noé, too. One of the few she truly trusts with her emotions.

He always respects her, even though they bicker over the stupidest things, he never pushes her past her limit. Neither has she tested him in such a way. It shouldn’t shock her chest that he’s respecting her answer.

Yet, hearing from his younger sisters that he isn’t here to talk, because he’s out with some blue eyed brunette, cuts into her ribcage.

She can’t have both. She can’t keep him only as a friend, and not have anyone else have him. Anyone can see his quick, intelligent gaze, and tall, strong form. There is a need of good within him. Who sense that, knows he’s not an easy one to let get away.

She’s afraid.

She’s afraid of losing him. She’s afraid of their relationship never being the same if their romantic pursuit crashes and burns. She’s afraid of not having Noé close. The thought alone of another reaching for his hand is enough to raise acid in her throat and cause her fists to clench.

Her fear is driving her to lose him. When he asked for one night with her, she shot him down like a bird. The confusion on his face only resolved her answer more, until he actually moved on.

She’s afraid.

But she’s more afraid of never having him, then losing him to what they can be.

*

She finds him in his room. The soft knock surprises him, but he invites her to sit on his bed, like they’ve always done before. It would be too much to count how many times they’ve talked until the sun set. She refuses his offer, and instead takes to his window where he joins her.

“What’s going on, Jacqueline?” he asks. He watches her with curious, quick eyes. He’s better at hiding his emotions but she can read him like her favorite book. Her rejection may still sting him, but he doesn’t want it to show. The tighter set of his smile gives that away well enough.

She works her jaw for a moment. Turning upon him, she swallows her pride like acid.

Fear has hinder her, but no more.  

“Noé, I know this may be too late, but I need to say it.”

His honey irises still upon her tense form. Slowly, she flips her hair over her shoulder, but resists the habit of touching it.

“I told you no when you ask me out because I didn’t want us to become something more.”

His brow wrinkles, but he waits upon her. Staying still, his olive skin and black hair holds her steady.

“Because it we did take it farther, we could find that we’re not compatible romantically.” She pauses, breathing out slowly.

“And that could have ruin this.” She gestures between the space of their chests.

“Jacqueline—” he begins but she holds up her hand.

“Please, let me finish.” She can’t stop or stall this anymore. This is what needs to happen between them, least she die with it writhing in her chest.

He leans back on his heels. His mask is unreadable now, even to her keen eyes. She swallows roughly.

“The thought of not always having you terrifies me.” She lifts her gaze, finding his lips pressed together.

She keeps his stare within hers, refusing to blink.

“I want to go further with you, Noé.”

As she waits, holding her heart on the edge of her fingertips, a slow building smirk touches Noé’s mouth. She almost narrows her brow at his light reaction to her confession.

“Are you asking me out on a date,  _princesa_?” he questions.

There’s understanding lining his eyelashes now. The grin isn’t of smugness, but of anticipation. For a heartbeat, she feared he would tease her about her worries. The word  _princesa_  still rings in her head like a bell upon his voice.

“Yes,” she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

“I expect dinner and movie then,” he presses, still smiling.

She wants to glare at him, but the corner of her lips are tugging upwards. “I’ll be very accommodating.”

It falls into place. What strange energy once ran through them shifts to something settled and happy. A moment of relief is directed at the other. Noé is as she’s always known, they’re simply planning a date now. Something lighter fills her chest at all of her uncertainty being casted aside by his familiar grin.

“We’re going on a date,” she says, more to herself but he steps closer. Gently, he brushes one stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips linger on the shell of her ear, almost falling away before she catches his hand. Finding the warm of his palm strange but welcoming, Jacqueline looks to his reaction.

He’s open with her as well, surprised but pleased at her boldness. Never would she dare to speak of the few day dreams she’s had of running her fingers through his black hair, or pressing her lips to the corner of his smart mouth, but the thoughts are gentle in the back of her mind.

“I wish you would have told me that sooner, Jacqueline,” he says softly. “It would have saved me some trouble and time.”

The other girl. She doesn’t want to think about it, but she has enough fire for ten suns. A scowl almost looks down upon their linked hands.

“I know,” she turns her gaze away. “I’m just glad I wasn’t too late.”

“Too late?” he pinches his brow, squeezing her fingers. “Why would you—oh.”

He swears under his breath then, earning Jacqueline’s raised brow.

“Ana and Magdala told you I went on a date, didn’t they?” he growls out his sisters’ names like a curse.

“Yes, but only because I was asking for you,” she tries to say casually, least she give him more ammunition to throw at her.

Noé sighs before holding her gaze.

“It was just a girl I had met before. We—there isn’t going to be a second date with her. Don’t worry about that.” His face suddenly turns amusing upon her, “but I’m glad to know I’m already making you miss me.”

Now she glares without restraint, earning his chuckle. His hair shakes with his laughter, almost falling into his face before he rakes it back with his fingers.

“Watch yourself, Noé, or I might find a reason to cancel our date tomorrow night.”

He stills at that, “Tomorrow night?”

Jacqueline lets her scowl disappear before nodding.

“Yes.” Reaching out with her other hand, she fixes the collar of his jacket. He holds steady for her, settled now that he knows her reasons. Not that she would admit this out loud, but she did miss him. Enough to find any excuse to be closer to his ranunculus and spice scent.

“Then I won’t miss it for the world,  _princesa_ ,” he swears, squeezing her hand once more. 


	13. Book Quote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree lets Magdala get one book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Magdala. 
> 
> Father and Daughter Fluff.

There is something different in the air. The smells resonates within her belly, like dessert after dinner. Her metallic fingertips trail across the spines. Down the bumpy ridges, she reads decorative, gold cursive and bold black ink.

“Any luck, sweetie?” McCree’s voice falls from down the aisle.

Magdala drops her prosthetic hand to a row lower. The silver digit of her right hand taps lightly against the author’s name. As if she doesn’t know by heart where her favorite section of fiction is.

“The Arthur Conan Doyle books are still here,” she says. “Still haven’t found The Final Problem.”

His boots step over the dingy carpet to her side. Stooping slighter, her father helps her browse the titles. Even the wooden cases with which the books are contained in are faded, dusty. The owners hardly spare a glance to this little bookshop anymore.

If she had it her way, this entire library would be in her room. Instead, Papa’s gift is one book of her choice. This is her’s and his day. Ana had Papa yesterday. Roughly once a month, McCree makes time to take each of his daughter’s out to their favorite dinner and an activity/gift of their choice.

“The Final Problem, hmm,” he hums quietly, eyeing her for a moment. “You’ve already gotten through all the other Sherlock Holmes books?”

“Ages ago,” she answers, “but I’ve been wanting to read something new of Sherlock as of late.”

McCree pulls out a book. Nothing of what she’s looking for, but it still holds as a Sherlock tale. Between his flesh and metal fingers, the book opens to a random page. Like her own natural and prosthetic hands do so often. Quietly, Magdala straightens.

“Do you still remember the quote?” she asks, hopeful.

An amusement touches his face at her subtle eagerness. When she was younger, she would demand and beg for him to say it. Papa’s eyes fall to the book, but not for reference.

“’My mind,’ he said, ‘Rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram for the most intricate analysis, and I am in my proper atmosphere.’”

Though the regal quote is far away from the Southern accent, McCree makes it roll beautifully off of his tongue. It’s something Magdala still tests with her mixed Spanish vowels and Southern drawls.

McCree turns to her softly happy state, “How was that, little bee?”

“ _Perfecto_ ,” she answers. She looks away only for a moment to find the title she’s been searching for. Freeing it from the close huddle of other hardcovers, she shows it to her father.

“Will that hold you over for a little while?” he asks with mirth.

Ducking her head to let her long, blonde dipped strands fall and hide her face, Magdala grins to herself. There are too many nights where she’s read the pages until her eyes were too tired and itchy.

“This will do for now.”

A chuckle leaves his mouth, not surprised.

“You know your mama could download those for you off the internet if you wanted them so quickly.” McCree begins walking down the aisle as Magdala holds the book to her chest. “No need for such a long drive and expensive book. It’s sort of… hipster-ish, don’t you think?”

She shakes her head, scrunching her face in displeasure.

“It’s not hipster! If anything, it’s vintage! You should know that, Papa.”

She sharply eyes his person. Old, leather boots with a tucked in flannel shirt and jeans barely holding at the seams. He doesn’t have his cowboy hat, but it would complete her implication.

“Hey now, what are you getting at?”

Magdala mischievously shrugs her shoulders, smirking the slightest at her father’s mockingly disgruntled expression.


	14. McRaspberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems there is nothing Noé can do to cheer up Jacqueline, except, maybe this one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Noé. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline.
> 
> Fluff. Slight Hurt/Comfort.

It simply isn’t a good day. Jacqueline has been dragging through all of it, with no clear cause or indication of her crushed mood. She’s been listening to sad french songs all afternoon and hasn’t given Noé a real smile yet. Even her glares don’t hold her usual, killer edge. He’s done everything he can think of. Given her pink macaroons, listen until she simply stopped talking, cuddling. Lots of that.

There is no direct answer to Noé’s question. Her words struggle to explain the bad feeling, and she quickly gives up trying. Instead, he say he gets it.

They end up on top of his bed. She’s in her softest, pink sweats and black t-shirt. Her long curls spill out across his pillow as she hides in the crook of his neck. Holding her against him, he envisions the sadness leaking out of her with her every heartbeat. There is little she has to say.

Noé frowns to himself. It hurts his chest just as much to witness this as it is to be helpless to help her. Her brilliant, dark eyes shouldn’t be shadowed with such heavy clouds. His thoughts turn to his parents, and the various acts of comforts he’s witness between the two of them. Tight hugs, as if they could never separate. Hushed, soft words that hold safety nets.

When a heavy mood strikes Mama, Papa will sneak up on her, just to lift her shirt and blow tickling breaths against her navel. She swears again and again that she isn’t ticklish, but he and Ana and Magdala know better.  

Jacqueline has never had a raspberry from a McCree before. Maybe it’s time to introduce her.

He can easily see this ending with her ending his life, but, if it will make even a smile break the frozen dejectedness in her, he’ll brave it.

Sitting up on the bed, Noé scoots down the mattress just a few inches. Just as he gets into position, Jacqueline lifts her head.

Her lips part in question, but he drops his lips to her stomach. Through the soft fabric of her shirt, he blows a raspberry against her tummy, to which Jacqueline lets out the squeakiest ‘eep’. The noise startles him so intensely, that he stops at only one to look up at her.

A mask of surprise and blatant confusion colors her dark skin. She’s stunned. She doesn’t know even know what to do with her arms, which are held up in brief defensiveness as she looks down at him. 

Jacqueline ends up sputtering, “What. Was. That?”

A grin slowly grows across Noé’s face.

“A McRaspberry.” He knows it sounds stupid, but there isn’t any more heaviness lining her dark eyelashes.

“A Mc—What? That is so gross!” she complains.

The sound she made still echoes in his head. The little ‘eep’ is so precious to his heart that he ducks down and once again tickles her tummy with his mouth. Another glorious squeak escapes her as her hands land on his shoulder.

“ _Oh mon ciel!”_  she gasps, struggling to hide the joy rushing her cheekbones. “Noé! Stop this right now!”

He doesn’t, even as he feels her stomach tighten with thick laughter and her fingers dig into his shoulders with the famous raspberry torture. Her shrieking and tumbling laughter fills his soul. There is no music such as her voice wavering with happy cords.

Once her demands and pleads reach him, the raspberries stop and he straightens. Her hands slide down his arms to his wrists as he leans over her. Both are breathing heavily from the ordeal, but her eyes shine like stars as she looks to him. She tries to hold wrath, but even that melts at a forbidden smile upon her lips.

“Ah,” Noé hums, satisfied, “McRaspberries never fail to cheer up anyone. Right,  _princesa_?.”

Still attempting recovery, mostly out of pride, Jacqueline finally looks at him with lightness. As if the sunny day has never known dark clouds. Gently, her hands slip underneath his palms against the covers, before squeezing gently. She holds pursed lips for a moment.

“I am never saying that ridiculous word,” she states.


	15. Halves of the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noé and Jacqueline go scouting to help their parents, and find exactly what they were looking for, and something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Noé. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline.
> 
> Half Monster AU. Dhampir!Jacqueline. Feathered Serpent!Noé.

She doesn’t always get permission to help her mother and father, but for this, they allow her to leave their protected chateau. There is hardly any room for error, within herself, or her parents expectations. She hardly fails to deliver. A certain determination refuses to take any less than what she wants to bring back.

This is the first time Jacqueline’s mother has ever been threatened directly. A monster hunter, with an unholy arm of metal and fire, is approaching their home. He is undoubtedly prepared with stakes and holy water, but he does not know the countess. He does not know what the countess’s family is capable of.

Her hand wraps around a metallic, strangely engraved, talisman that hangs from her neck. A large, metal eye holds in the center, with unearthly text circling the edges. She hides it under her teal corset. Jacqueline will see to this hunter’s end, and her mother’s safety secured.

A tavern in the heart of the countess’s territory holds all passerbys and travelers. In a dull black waistcoat and skirt, Jacqueline steps inside as a simple woman. Drunkers lay their heads on tables. The few not entirely washed away laugh in the back with the dancing girls.

She takes an old, creaking stool, and sweeps the small counter with a sharp gaze. A man with golden teeth and tattoos steps to her. Alcohol sours the scent of his blood. It takes focus to not wrinkle her nose in disgust at all of this. Nothing in here smells appetizing, but she drank plenty before she left her home.

“Do you drink, mademoiselle?” the man asks.

She slips one silver coin onto the counter. The man eyes it before taking it between his dirty fingers.

“Half a pint.  _Merci_.”

The drink will be wasted, but it will help her stay for some time to ask questions. When he places the dripping mug in front of her, she stares at it. The man leaves her be.

The clatter of the door opening allows wind to whip her long hair. Suppressing a growl of annoyance, Jacqueline turns to the entrance and the fool not minding the weather or her curls. A moment later, the stranger’s scent floods her.

A young man steps into the bar, dressed in a gray coat with a thick, black shawl like cloth draping over his shoulders. The thick locks of his midnight hair are brushed back over his skull. His eyes gleam like harden honey. An olive complexion marks him as even stranger. His unmoving stare is locked onto her, just as she doesn’t blink away from him.

Once, a foreign merchant passed through the countess’s town. He pulled along with him cages of smaller, exotic animals. There was one strange beast that she never thought much upon until now. He called the animal a coyote, with a tan and gray coat, and about the height and body of a dog. The eyes were a devilishly clever color of amber, nearly like the young man before her. The animal gave her the impression that it knew her secret when no one else did.

She receives the same impression now, from him.

Whatever flows through his blood, it is not human. She’s smelled different creatures before. Undead beings, werewolves and even greater monsters, but nothing strikes anywhere close to his scent. It is old and strong, but not bitter with age. He smells sweet, like necatur. Her fangs salivate at the thought alone.

The rumors are true. The hypocritical monster hunter is collaborating with a snake demon. Her father and mother must know immediately.

The young man takes up a stool beside her, leaving some space between them. His gaze doesn’t leave her face as he settles, and orders half a pint as well. The coin he leaves is a smaller, gold token, but the man serving the alcohol takes it all the same.

He doesn’t drink from the mug when it’s placed in front of him. Facing forwards on her stool, Jacqueline folds her legs. There is no subtly. This creature will be after her mother in a matter of days. The monster hunter will use him to kill the countess.  

The talisman weighs heavily against her heart. It’s power can change fate. If she is quick, and clever, she can keep her mother safe for many tomorrows after this.

She must only get it around the young man’s neck.

“ _Bonsoir, mademoiselle_.” He breaks the tension first. The attempt at her mother tongue is so terrible, that Jacqueline laughs quietly while lifting her chin.

“ _Ton accent est atroce, monsieur._ ” she insults him, assuming that he doesn’t even understands what she says.

A small grin touches his lips. Resting one elbow rudely on the counter, he faces her completely. The hard honey of his eyes are intent, but curious.

“I don’t suppose you know English?” he asks with a ting of hopefulness, maybe an edge of snark. She hasn’t decided yet. If he believes being cheeky will save him, he couldn’t be more wrong.

“I can speak it, yes.” She brushes back a curl from her face. “You are far from home, especially with that accent of yours.”

It would seem to be that of a Spaniard, but it’s a little off. A rolling tongue with slippery vowels. It fits a snake’s voice were one able to speak.

“Does it please the lady?” he asks, arching a sharp brow. Something flirtatious rolls the question off of his tongue, but she imagines it to be something more vain.

“Hm, she’s still deciding.” she muses, unimpressed.

The blood of his person is still leaking into her system. It is strong and tantalizing, like a sugary drug. Yet, she can’t place it anywhere but on him. What sort of being would a monster hunter carry on with? The creature has taken on such a young, handsome appearance as well. Does he hope to seduce information out of the town’s people?

It doesn’t matter now. His schemes are over.

She stands.

“Leaving so soon?” His eyes keep with her as she steps to the door. “You haven’t even taken a sip, lady.”

Her head turns slowly. The long curls swinging from her head in a hair band move with the motion. He sits on the edge of his seat, ready to move.

“It’s not my kind of drink.”

The smallest tug of suspicion surrounds his eyes before he stands too. Stepping to her side, he opens the door in a grand gesture.

“Me either,” he grins, like his secret is still his. “Would you object to me escorting you? It’s dark tonight.”

His attempt at seduction is flattering. As if she is so simple. She clings to the mental image she has conjured of the snake demon, and pictures it hiding behind his beautiful face.

She muses, pursing her lips in thought. Delicately, she reaches out to fix his black shawl, moving it back over his shoulder. The tension in his shoulders are nearly invisible, but she feels it underneath the brush of her fingertips. Slowly, she parts her lips. His eyes immediately fall to her dark mouth, before jerking back to her gaze.

The dance he is leading her on must be done with two.

“What a gentleman.”

Stepping outside, the cool night air moves with her breaths. As he follows at her side, his scent is almost overwhelming. Preparing with a meal before doesn’t even seem to place a block in her want of his blood. It’s as if she’s been starving for days with the way her mouth longs to bite his strong neck.

She stops dead. One lantern gives light to the cobblestone street. It is much too late, and much too dangerous for anyone to be roaming the town. The moon hides away tonight, leaving only a black canvas above them.

“Lady?” the young man asks. He stalls behind her, uncertain.

Gripping the talisman, Jacqueline swiftly turns on him. He leans back, startled as she steps closer, leaving little space between them. No more masks. Batting her eyes once, she place her palm over his chest. The thick cloth of his shawl keeps their skin apart, but it will suffice.

Direct eye contact holds them. She is revealed. Fangs slip over her bottom lip, but she doesn’t blink.

“You will stay very still, and very quiet. You will not run from me.” She speaks, a new, echoing tone infecting her voice.

Her eyes widen when he blinks. Disbelief strikes her at his very clear and conscious gaze. The young man narrows his brow.

“What makes you think I’m going to do that?” he asks in a low, threatening tone. His fingers wrap around her wrist. His heartbeat is loud, crying out to her. Jacqueline fumbles for a moment.

“How are you… That’s not possible,” she whispers. He should be dazed, locked to her will. Confusion fills her just as much as panic. He can clearly see the sharp, white daggers her mouth contains. She can’t control him.  

“You were trying to enchant me?” he nearly hisses. “That’s a little rude, vampire.”

His harden, honey irises suddenly grow larger with the slitting motion of his pupil. Vertical, snake like eyes that are sharp with anger manifest. Jacqueline nearly rips her hand out of his grasp, but remembers the cool metal in her other palm.

Her fingers ensnare his shirt. Jerking him into her, she crashes against his solid, muscular body. They stand chest to chest, with him having only a few inches over her. One hand reflectively wraps around her waist, while the one gripping her wrist tears it away from his chest. They stand, almost as if about to dance across the silent, cobblestone street.

Jacqueline grabs the chain around her neck with her free hand. Ripping it over her curls, she slips it around his neck. The young man immediately lets go of her. Reeling back, he looks down at the talisman with panic.

“What is this?” he demands.

In one blink of an eye, what was once human shifts into an overwhelming large, looming serpent. Feathers of purple, green and red protrude out from the creature’s head like a willowy crown. Deep maroon colors the serpent’s scales as more feathers fall out of his winding tail. Nearly large enough to swallow her whole, Jacqueline stumbles back. His body’s length could stretch across this entire street were it not curled upon itself. Tripping back over the uneven cobblestone, she stares up at the great serpent from the ground. A scream holds tightly within her throat, but she doesn’t release it.

The chain still holds around the serpent, just behind it’s jaw and feathers. It dangles as he twitches several times. As if he is before an open door, but an invisible barrier keeps him from crossing the threshold.

“What!? I can’t change back,” the snake hisses, panicking. A forked tongue falls from his scaley mouth as he jerks his body. The talisman remains firmly around his neck. Wide eyes of harden honey with slitted pupils suddenly lock upon her.

“Vampire, what is this? What can’t I go back to my human form?” The voice is still the same accented English, but layed and echoing with a soft hiss at the end of his sentences. Almost god like.

Collecting herself, Jacqueline scoots back upon the ground a few inches.

“That talisman reveals any monster that can hide behind a human face.” She finally allows the smallest smile of victory to touch her mouth. “You won’t get back to your hunter without revealing yourself to the whole town.”

Anger strikes the snake’s eyes as he swivels his head around the street. The bar still holds drunkards and lights, but it will only be a matter of time before someone comes along. The feathers whip along with his quick movements.

Jacqueline has him entirely exposed. If her mother and father were here, they would already have the creature’s long belly ripped open. This will slow him down, and give some indication of where the monster hunter waits.

He turns back to her, slithering closer. Lowering his skull, his sharp eyes glower upon her in every form of threatening and terrifying.

“Take it off,” he orders.

Jacqueline almost laughs, “No. It will be amusing to see how you get it off without any arms, serpent.”

The creature’s gaze becomes even more heated. Jacqueline becomes acutely aware of the six inch fangs waiting in his mouth, and the sharp, almost blurred movements of his serpentine body.

He hisses once, before striking forward. Jacqueline gasps before his head wraps around her waist, pulling his scales along to efficiently encase her in a loop within his body. Slithering forward, the serpent drags her across the street into a dark space between two stone buildings.

“Let go of me,” she cries, hitting one fist against his hard, deep maroon scales.

The serpent loosens his scales and dumps her on the ground, before quickly circling her person once more. His tail layers into a surrounding wall that almost reaches to her ribcage. His large, reptilian head looms once more. His feathers tilt with his threatening hiss. Surprisingly, he doesn’t constrict her body, or attempt to simply devour her.

“Take it off,” he demands once more.

She crosses her arms. “Move out of my way, snake.”

“Not until you take this thing off of me.”

The charm dangles underneath the corner of his jaws as he says this. Jacqueline only hardens her firm stance.

“No.”

He rears his head back slightly at this, before hissing, “Fine. Then we’re both stuck here.”

“Augh,” she breathes out in frustration, “You are not going to keep me here with you.”

Even in his different form, the ridge above one eye arches with an uncharacteristically human expression of daring her to test him. Just like his eyebrow did in his human mask.

She does, once. The attempt to jump out of his circular confinement is met with him raising that part of his body to catch her torso before she can escape. Slipping down the richly oiled scales, Jacqueline curses in her native tongue as her feet hit the cobblestone.

“How dare you,” she nearly screeches, furious.

“How dare you put this thing on me?” he hisses back. “You want to go? Take this cursed necklace off of me.”

She crosses her arms once more, and jerks her chin high. The vertical slits in his eyes settle with the same stubbornness. Her jaw remains locked as the cool night air filters through her curls. The monstrous serpent settles into a motionless state, as if waiting for the perfect victim to accidentally step over him in tall grass.

Her father will come for her, but not until she hasn’t returned in the morning. It’s simply a matter of waiting. Her mother will know all that she’s up against. Jacqueline will see her kill this snake and his hunter before they get the chance to even come after her.

Yet, waiting for the actual sun to rise takes much more patience then Jacqueline realized. Shifting her weight to her other leg for the hundredth time, she finally clears her throat.

“Move,” she orders, but before he can demand the removal of the necklace, she gestures at his long, twining body. “I’m not going to stand here all night while you stare at me.”

Subtle confusion touches the snake’s scales but he slowly obliges. Unlayering his body, she sits on the thickest part of his tail. She easily rests her long legs from upon the solid matter of his form. The curved scales let her sit with only a chill, but it doesn’t affect her too much. Slowly, with his gaze sharply upon her, the snake curls more of his body underneath him. His head slowly lowers to rest upon his bunched scales, weary like her.

They’re both trying to burn the other out. It’s not working for either.

“You’re not foolish enough to let the sun come,” he says after a heartbeat. The rich, intoxicating blood she almost drooled over before is masked by the thick, dark maroon covering. Not that she would ever drink from him. “You’re much too lively for death, though, not being undead.”

Her brow narrows, glaring at him with a dagger like edge. A cheeky smile would be staining the monster’s face were he human. Her fangs slip out for a moment, bared but she doesn’t growl. Instead, she drives the heel of her foot back into his scales. It doesn’t phase him, but she certainly finds satisfaction in it.

“You can’t outlast me. The sun isn’t your friend, vampire,” he tenses, losing his smirking air while looking to the sky. His feathers tilt back with the motion. The heavens are sparkling without a moon, but it won’t remain black for long.

Jacqueline’s expression is smooth. No, the sun isn’t favorable to her mother, but it does nothing to her. The snake lowers his gaze at the silent, haughty energy she gives.

“You’re not worried about the sun.” He guesses right on the mark. “Why?”

“You don’t know everything, snake,” she says vainly.

His jaw parts but only in a frustrated gesture. The long, six inch fangs remain mostly in his large mouth. Then just as quickly, he composes himself.

“Information for information then,” he tempts. She finds glee at how being clueless irks him. At least the snake has some weak points, but they have very little else to discuss. The dawn is a long way off from assisting her. This can give her something more to bring back to her mother.

She cuts him off as he begins to speak with, “What’s your name?”

The feathered serpent hardens his marbled eyes. After a stretch, he flicks his forked tongue out.

“Noé,” his hiss echoes quietly.

Her brow furrows slightly at the strange name, before giving in return, “Jacqueline.”

His long body shifts. For a heartbeat, Jacqueline swears she hears her name rumbled in his throat.

“Why aren’t you worried about the sun, vampire.” he quickly shoots out, earning her eye roll.

“First, stop calling me a vampire. You know my name now, idiot.” She bares her fangs. “Second, if I answer this, you will answer why you are working with the monster hunter.”

The serpent shakes his feathers with impatience, “Yes, yes. Go on.”

She is losing a great advantage by telling him this, but since he’s as unmoving as she, he would have found out by morning anyways. She can give this up to figure out more information for her mother.

“I’m not a vampire, I am a dhampir,” she speaks slowly, watching his harden honey eyes widen in the slightest.

“Born from a vampire and human,” he hisses under his breath, but with more awe then horror. His attention comes quickly back to her. “You have all the abilities and effects of a vampire, but the sun doesn’t harm you.”

He knows his monsters.

“Yes.”

“That means… Is the countess your—”

“Information for information.” She holds up her palm, sharply staring at him. “Tell me why you are working with the monster hunter.”

His jaw shuts for a moment in maddening curiosity, but he stalls on his own, forked tongue.

“We made a deal, snake—Noé.”

His head stills, resting the brightly colored feathers along his scales in the air. He ponders heavily. Collecting himself, he straightens his slithering neck.

“I hunt with the monster hunter because he and I have the same goals. To get rid of evil creatures like you.”

She scoffs, “Evil creatures? Do you know what you even are?”

“Being what we are doesn’t make someone a monster,” Noé speaks firmly, justified. “Acting like one does.”

She resists the urge to growl in frustration. Does he not see how he and his partner are going to storm her home and kill her mother? What hypocrisy falls from his mouth that he can’t see it?

“You’re the one trying to hunt down the countess!” Jacqueline accuses with poison. “She has protected this city for decades, and kept other, uncontrollable vampires out of these walls. She has never drunk blood from her own people. You are only hunting a just ruler.”

The serpent stills at her raised statement. Jacqueline watches two layers of eyelids close over the harden honey before Noé speaks.

“You’re lying.”

Jacqueline leans away, finished with trying to convince the monster what a real one is. Her cheek jerks to the side as she huffs. She’ll be far from him by morning.

“You’re not…” his hissing voice comes reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to believe what he already knows. Jacqueline only spares him a glance before once again turning away.

A quiet breath falls from the snake’s jaws, slowly working against her guard.

“My mother isn’t human either,” he says. His maroon scales shift slightly at this confession, but he doesn’t slow. “She’s the serpent you’ve heard about hunting with the monster hunter, not me. That monster hunter also happens to be my father.”

All of his confessions press inside her skull, but the most prominent one remains right in front of her. A half breed. A child thrown between two very conflicting worlds. Part human, part monster, like her. It shouldn’t touch her insides the way it does now, but the world suddenly seems very small. As if they are the only two in existence, both of their halves a part of something else.

“Your mother…” she trails off, trying to touch upon that revelation. “Wait, how old are you really?”

He pauses for a second.

“How old are you?”

She nearly growls in frustration as she spits out, “20.”

The double layers of eyelids blink once in surprise, “I’m 19.”

So he isn’t an ancient monster, but something strong runs in his blood that she can’t pinpoint. Still, there is much more to address.

“If your father really is the monster hunter, then, you can persuade him to leave my mother be. She’s not cruel, or evil. She’s not a murdering countess.”

His feathers remain still. Nothing of his thoughts are given away as she speaks. Right now, she could protect her mother and father from even having to lay eyes on the monster hunter. That is all that matters, persuading the serpent. If what he said of the monster hunter only killing truly evil creatures, then her mother will not be harmed.

“We drink from bad humans, those who have committed murder or done other terrible things. Or livestock. We’re not the monsters you should be hunting, Noé,” her voice comes off almost soft in her persuasion.

“I don’t know that,” he states, guarded. “You and I both know that what appears on the outside is not always what it simply is.”

The young man with a strange accent and the most delicious smell of blood. The curly haired, young woman smiling while keeping her teeth hidden.

Yes, they both do.

“Then listen, and watch,” Jacqueline says. “You will see the people of this land are gracious to the countess, and protected. There are no other rumors of vampires except about my mother.”

The title slips out, but it doesn’t surprise him in the least. He already guessed. Only a faint edge of anger touches her center as to be so careless with her words.

Slowly, the maroon scales on the creature shifts. The curling, bunching muscles of his long, serpentine body move, except for where she sits upon his tail. Silently, she watches him consider her and the fading darkness. Her lungs move quietly upon the wisp of hope.

Time passes without much thought. Her eyes remain upon his statue essence while his layered eyelids blink slowly in thought. There is much internal debate, but she has already said her piece. If he is like her, with parents that he’s bound to through blood and heart, he’ll make the right choice.

He must. She wills him to.

The first wooden door slams. A farmhand most likely hurrying to the field. Noé tenses as they both sense the warm body. Whoever they are, they are fortunate enough to move away from their little hidden assembly in the alleyway. The stars are just beginning to fade out to a gray, early morning dawn.

After his feathers fall back against his scales, the serpentine faces her with maroon and honey.

“I agree to seeing the work of the countess before judging her, but you must agree to take this amulet off of me in turn, Jacqueline,” his voice hisses steadily, but he still eyes her with slanted pupils.

Let him go, in order to see if he’ll keep his word. There is no promise he’ll let her leave, however.

She gets to her feet, facing the large, feathered skull of the snake.

“Give me your word you won’t kill me the moment I take it off,” she demands, brushing back a few strands of curls

He almost rolls his eyes before saying, “You have my word, but I wouldn’t have killed you anyways.”

Her brow hardens at that, not in disbelief, but in uncertainty at his genuineness. From how he avoids her gaze for a moment, she almost wants to believe him entirely.

“You have my word I won’t tell the countess of this… encounter,” she words oddly, but settles with it. It will be just as valuable for him to never exist as an additional threat. Unless of course, he is blatantly lying to her. She won’t have difficulty going back on her promise if that is the case.

Noé hisses gently, not entirely convinced as she, but willing. A thin film of trust touches the space between them. It is so delicate, Jacqueline wonders if her own breath could break it. Dipping his head and feathers once in agreement, they sign their unofficial contract.

Just as the first glimpse of blue bleeds over the horizon, Jacqueline’s shoe echoes on the cobblestone. Standing just before the feathered serpent, he lifts his neck. The threat of her heartbeat rising before the creature and the thought of his fangs plunging into her torso almost overwhelm her. Still, her fingers brush behind the corners of his large jaw, finding the intense smell of sweet blood even more mesmerizing. The maroon scales shift the weight of the chain and talisman. Drawing a breath, and lifting it over his feathers and head, Jacqueline removes the necklace.

In seconds, Noé shakes his feathers before his serpentine body disappears all at once. Back in the body of a young man, he stands before her, slightly breathless and tensing his jaw against uncomfortableness. She wonders if being unable to shift between his different natures is akin to being kept under water, or tied up from walking. Nothing quite painful, but strange to be kept from doing something that was once so easy.

He shifts his black shawl over his shoulders, before finding her clutching the talisman to her chest. The look that passes between them is something of tense trust and wariness.

He holds his hand out, palm open to the sky with insistence.

“ _Por favor_ … I need to take that,” he says. His gaze is almost tight with worry if it wasn’t so determined. “I can’t let that thing near my mother or my…”

He trails off but jumps back before she can ask of what he meant to say.

“She will not be as kind as to restrained herself from killing whoever put it on her.”

Instinctively, she clutches the talisman tightly to her heart. Her narrow brow evaluates his non-threatening fingertips but she doesn’t relent just yet.

“This is the only thing we have against you, or any other serpent,” she says. “I can’t give that up.”

Frustration builds for a moment in his mouth as he looks to the rising dawn. He drops his hand before unlocking his jaw.

“Then give me your word only you will hold onto it.”

A heartbeat passes. The truth is conditional, so long as they both hold up their agreements. She parts her lips, firm.

“It will only be around my neck.”

“ _Gracias,_ ” he breathes. It’s not enough to lift his frustration, but the littlest bit of satisfaction touches his eyes. Glancing warily to the charm as she slips it back around her neck, Noé looks away as she rearranges her hair to fall down her back.

“ _À la prochaine_ ,” she responds.

Rolling the words they just spoke to each other over in her mind, she steps around him. The shadows from the nearby walls are dark, but the sunlight is just lightning up the middle of the street. His gaze follows her, turning to watch her movements.

Just before her shoe touches the street, a hand grabs her arm and pulls her firmly back into the dark shadows. She doesn’t stumble but sharly lays eyes upon Noé’s grasp. Just as quickly, he lets go. His expression shifts into something unreadable.

“ _Lo siento_ ,” he mutters, almost embarrassed. “I forgot for a moment that the sun won’t kill you.”

Her gaze flints over him, from his loosely held fists to the face that holds like a wall of secrets. Now that he hides himself as human, the intoxicating smell of his blood is all the more precious. Sweet honey literally runs through his veins, just for her. It’s enough to make her want to rip that shawl away and lick his throat, but the thought alone makes her turn away in mad self-rebuke. Her fangs are not that desperate, her thirst is not that great yet.

She steps back onto the street slowly, viewing his face as the sun falls upon the curls of her head. What was once unreadable shifts to fascination.

“You don’t have a shadow,” he says. Looking to the ends of her skirt, and the tips of her shoes, there is only sunlight where darkness should fall.

The very corners of her lips tug upwards.

“You better hurry along, Noé,” she says, partly in warning. Twisting her skirt, she steps quickly through the street as they slowly come to life with people. The feeling of eyes upon her back disappears after a few heartbeats. When she spares a glance over her shoulder, to the little alleway she emerged from, there is no young man in the shadows.

Her hand covers the amulet, noting the faint smell upon the chain reminds her of maroon scales. She lets it bump against her sternum as she rushes upon cobblestones.


	16. Halves of Their Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noé and Jacqueline find themselves locked away in a dungeon for two days, without food or water… or blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra child, Noé. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline.
> 
> Half Monster AU. Dhampir!Jacqueline. Feathered Serpent!Noé. Blood.

Groaning into consciousness, Noé eases his eyelids open. His head rests in someone’s lap. Black curls almost fall against his face as he finds a dhampir’s gaze watching him. She brushes her locks back as she eyes him.

“You should have woken up a while ago,” she speaks, her accent edged with accusation.

He opens his mouth to retort, but stalls at a hammering pain pulsing at the side of his skull. Something hard was used to make him go to sleep in the first place.

“Jacqueline?” he asks. Not moving quite yet, he takes in the dark, nearly moldy sight of the ceiling. A near black room contains them, with only dim candles lighting the walls. There is only one steel door with a barred window. Dark stone walls seclude them in a sort of dungeon. The chill from the ground slips into his lower body, causing his muscles to contract for warmth. Jacqueline sits, cradling his head in her lap. The slightest smell of blood touches his senses; his own.

“I should have never listened to you,” she mutters.

The taunt angle of her brow is nothing new. Slowly, Noé lifts his hand to explore his head. A small patch of dried blood covers the right of his skull. Jacqueline frowns when he winces slightly.

“They could have killed you,” Jacqueline almost spits. “Ugh, ‘let’s go and take out a vampire coven by ourselves. We can’t afford to wait for our parents’. Now, you’re suffering from a head injury as they’ve thrown us into their dungeon to probably torture us later and display our mutilated bodies out front.”

Noé closes his eyes for a moment, resisting a moan of pain.

“If they did that, our parents would at least be able to avenge us.”

Peeking up at her, she doesn’t even crack a smile. Noé gives up and groans instead.

It’s bad, he knows that, but, it’s not the worst thing. There’s always something to be done. If anything, they can wait until one of their folks catches their scent and tracks them down. Noé is too impatient for that option at the moment.

He blinks slowly. The heat of her body serves as a comfortable rest. Resisting the urge to simply curl around her and sap as much of her warmth as he can, Noé sucks in a sharp breath.

“It’s alright, I’ll just shift and break down the door then—”

“Noé, they put some kind of enchantment on you,” her terse voice informs. “I can’t remove it either. There’s holy water or something like that in it.”

He looks down his front. Sure enough, a golden necklace with a strange eye carved into half a moon glares up at him. The chain wraps around his neck.

“What is with this place and necklaces refusing to let me change forms?” he growls. As he lifts his hand to grab the wretched thing, his fingertips stop just inches away from the metal. An invisible force repels his touch. Still frowning, Jacqueline looks just as displeased.

Sitting up, Noé curses as he tries to shift, but only finds static. He staggers to his feet as Jacqueline rises.

“You were out for two days,” she says. “They caught you by surprised and threatened your life. They threw us both in here.”

“Two days?” Surely, his mother and father are looking for him. Smacking his lips for a moment, he tastes thickness at lack of water. “Did they have to hit me so hard?”

“They could smell your blood,” she states, almost rolling her eyes. “They probably didn’t want to risk fighting you in your other form.”

Wandering forward, Noé touches the barred window. They had come to this rundown building, following a trail of a deadly vampire wreaking havoc in Jacqueline’s city. There was only supposed to be two or three, not ten. The scent of blood suckers was crawling all over the place, but he had only reacted to Jacqueline yelling his name before something fierce turned his vision black.

“Are you alright?” he asks, turning back to her. She stands taunt, as if wanting to pace but refusing to appear so anxious. Her crossed arms tell enough of what she hides.

“I’m fine.”

“They didn’t hurt you?”

She shakes her head, “No, but they haven’t come back here at all.”

His brow furrows as he faces the door once more. No handle, or hope of reaching through the bars. From what little he can peek at, the dark passage only leads down a longer hallway.

“They might be using us as bait for your mother, or my father,” he says.

“Possibly,” her voice trails off.

Two days they’ve been here, and he’s thirsty. No food or water. The vampires don’t care to preserve them but they don’t care to kill them either. Unless they just stowed them away for fear of the retribution that would follow killing the countess’s and monster hunter’s child. Or, The vampires could be waiting for someone to come for them.

He turns back, finding Jacqueline’s dark gaze. Her irises, as black as the space between stars, shimmer ever so slightly. Her jaw is held tight, as if she’s speaking through her teeth. She’s been keeping his unconscious form off the cold ground, alone. A bit of poison touches his tongue at the thought of the vampires, ready for revenge.

“You’re thirsty,” he says.

Her fingers dig into her upper arms.

“No more than you are.”

Walking back to her, Noé begins to roll up the sleeve on his right arm.

“What are you doing?” She almost steps back from his advance. Arching a brow, he presents his wrist, as if it isn’t obvious.

“I’m not drinking your blood.” She turns her body half away, as if shielding him from her piercing fangs. “You’re thirsty, too.”

“Yes, but my thirst isn’t for the blood of living creatures,” Noé states. He offers out his arm once more. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be down here. A little blood can go a long way. I would rather you drink now—when you’re not on the verge of a feeding frenzy.”

Her mouth twists unpleasantly, “I would never go into a… feeding frenzy.”

“I know,” his voice lowers into something soft. She eyes his wrist now. No doubt she’s been smelling what lies in his veins this entire time while trying to not bare her fangs. Still, something guarded keeps her stubborn.

“You won’t hurt me, Jacqueline,” he speaks reassuring, smiling slightly. “Really, I’m hard to kill. It’s part of my charm.”

Unamused, the crinkles in her brow deepen but she shifts forward ever so slightly. Her dark eyes fall to his offered hand. Then, she lifts her chin.

“It will hurt.”

“I’ve been bitten by a vampire before. Twice, actually.”

A curious wave moves over her expression.

“Both times my mama was close by and… Well, let’s just say I don’t pity a lot of creatures, but I sure pity them.”

Shaking her head, her curls sway along her shoulders. A moment passes as she considers his gaze. A decision passes through her mind. Reaching up, it takes only one pull to unravel the thick ribbon keeping her hair back. Her hair falls like a crashing waterfall, framing her face in black curls.

She clutches the ribbon in a fist before gently taking his arm. Noé breathes in, bracing as she bows her head. She needs this more than him at the moment. It will give him one less thing to worry about.

The sharp, wicked curves of her fangs appear as she pulls her lips back. Lifting his wrist to her mouth, she stalls for a moment. In one heartbeat, she simply presses her dark lips to his skin, like an apology.

The dhampir’s jaw clamps down on his wrist. He doesn’t jerk reflectively away. This is already hard enough for her without him struggling. She’s already held back from willingly harming him. That’s a small anchor among the sharp pressure points piercing his flesh. Being half god gives him some advantages, but the instinct to rip away from a vampire feeding is buried deep in his bones.

Nothing holds pleasure in this prison. Noé’s breaths vary but never rise into a groan or squeak of pain. It’s less than half a minute. He endures silently until he can’t. The drag of his blood aches too deeply. His lips part to speak when she pulls away, reading his thoughts. A sweet, painful release floods his blood as he grips just under her puncture points.

A few unstable breaths leave Jacqueline as she straightens. Dignity keeps her shoulders strong as his red drips down her chin. The dim light they have frames her like a painting. A beautiful creature existing as more than just terrifying and hungry. His heart softens as concern fills her cheekbones. Using the back of her hand, she wipes blood off of her face before licking it clean. Already, she stands stronger.

“Here,” she murmurs, taking his wrist back. He gives it. Quietly, she wraps the teal ribbon around his wrist. It soaks in the little dots of blood from the makes her fangs left as she ties a firm bow. Almost like wrapping his injury as a gift.

“ _Gracias_ ,” he says. It takes strength to keep his voice level. “Feeling better?”

She looks to him before hesitantly nodding.

“Your blood tastes… very good.” She almost smiles. “I didn’t think I could enjoy a snake.”

An unrestricted smirk touches his mouth.

“You already told me I was irresistible to you.”

She slaps his arm lightly, but that only brings out a soft chuckle from his throat. What little humor they can hold disappears immediately as Jacqueline glances down to the ribbon around his wrist. The slightest twitch in her eyelids gives away worry. 

“I’m fine,” he says easily. “You hardly took a pint.”

“It was more than plenty,” she speaks, eyeing him still. “Lay down so I don’t have to catch you if you pass out.”

Through the pounding in his head and the slight dizziness trickling through his system, Noé can’t refuse. She kneels once more and offers her lap. Her sharp focus is no longer hindered as he takes her offer, minding the side of his skull that still aches.

“It’s just a matter of time,” Noé says. Her tense gaze flickers down to him. Despite the dreary dungeon, he certain doesn’t mind the view. “One of our parents will find us.”

“Let’s hope so,” she mutters. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Just give me a minute to rest,” a sigh almost works through his person. This place has no right being so cold and letting Jacqueline feel so warm. “Then we can start looking for a way out of here.”

She lowers her head, giving a quiet sound of affirmation. Dark eyes search his expression. He smiles, hoping to ease her concern. She doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t frown either.

He touches the ribbon on his wrist, marveling for a moment at the firm knot of the bow. 


	17. Four Wings, One Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taro answers the call with Genji and Mercy, and hopes to heal some of the damage done after a terrorist bombing in Lijiang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gency kids, Valentine and Taro. Widowhanzo child, Jacqueline. McSombra twins, Ana and Magdala. 
> 
> Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Violence. Healing. Anxiety/Panic attacks.

The minute after Winston warns her about being prepared to leave to Lijiang, Mercy finds the news blaring with their mission. The smoke and fire is already filling the air from what the cameras gather. People are struggling to get away from damaged buildings as other foundations lay in ruins. A bombing, they say. It hasn’t been confirmed yet if the attack was orchestrated by Talon, or another malicious group.

Mercy brushes those questions aside as she takes her Caduceus staff in hand. Overwatch is too late to stop the bombings or capture the culprits responsible. Their purpose in going there will be in rescue and damage control.

“Mom,” a worried voice speaks. Mercy turns to see her lab doors closing behind her son.

“Taro,” she steps towards him. The wings on her back shift as he meets her. Concern edges around the corners of his eyes as his gaze flickers to the holovid for a moment.

“Winston is taking a squad to Lijiang,” Mercy explains. “There’s nothing we can do about the initial bombing, but we’ll be able to help with the aftermath.”

“Mom,” he says again, gaining her absolute attention. Even at only 18 years of age, he stands tall and straight. His still but gentle stance reminds her of her father when he would stop in thought to look out a window.

“Let me come,” he speaks, unwavering. Resolve brightens the light color of brown in his eyes. He shares the same hue as Genji’s. “I can help, and use my Valkyrie suit on the field.”

Her lips part to answer an immediate ‘no’, but his palms rest by his sides, facing up. As if ready to plead just to aid those who need it. A desperation nearly clings to his shoulders, longing for the chance to help others.

He is trained. He knows how to administer aid on the battlefield, or even in emergencies. The suit they’ve both worked on and perfected has yet to be truly used. A staff mirroring her own has already grown use to his hands and movements.

This will be the safest mission she could ever hope for. The direct danger has already passed, and she can stay close to his side. He needs only to provide relief and medical aid, not fly into active battle.

Fear touches her heart for a moment, before she allows trust to move her tongue.

“It will be long and hard work, Taro. We won’t rest until we absolutely must,” she warns, but she already knows his heart’s answer.

“I know, and I can do it. I want to help, Mom.” he pleads gently.

Mercy breathes out. This life is grueling and unsavory. There is too much stress and not enough relief, but it seems he’s built for it. The need to watch over others runs in his blood.

“Get your Valkyrie suit,  _herzchen_. Hurry.” Mercy touches his shoulder for a moment as she steps past him. Taro nods firmly. “I must speak to Winston.”

He agrees to Taro joining, knowing they will need all the support they can get. Lucio, Ana, and Zenyatta will be along to bring aid, as well as Reinhardt, Mei and D.va, in case heavy lifting or area control is required. Genji and Tracer are the only agents they have on the mission for scouting, as well as a precaution against any lingering threats. Although, Winston doubts they’ll have to fight anything besides the tragedy.

Valentine will be disappointed to be left at the watchpoint, but Genji will bid her goodbye for all of them.

When Mercy returns, Taro is already standing with his Caduceus staff in hand. She stops at the sight. Her eyes fall over the white armor decorating his chest and arms. The wings remain without their boosting light for the moment, but another pair of smaller, white wings hold out across the bottom of his spine. Finer motor control will be given to Taro, as well as longer hover time, and jump capabilities. A golden halo wraps around his fluffy, white gold hair.

This isn’t the first time she’s seen him in his Valkyrie suit. They’ve both poured countless hours into testing flying responses and reaction time. It has never seen actual battle. The tests they ran were simply that. Seeing him before her, geared for the broken and desolation, she remembers his face as an infant. He was something so small, that even his entire hand couldn’t grasp two of her fingers.

This is his hope for a peaceful world. She will let him nurse it.

Taro shifts his staff into both hands, angling it in front of his chest, “When are we leaving?”

Mercy doesn’t find her voice until after she’s crossed the room to kiss his forehead.

“Now.”

*

Taro doesn’t know what to make of Genji’s still person when he walks aboard the Orca. For a moment, he fears he’ll send him back, but he only asks if his mother agreed to this. Taro answers that he did. Mercy appears behind him a few moments after.

They share a silent conversation as Taro straps in. After a moment, they take the seats on both sides of him.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, Taro,” Genji says calmly. There is only kind reassurance, no pressure or expectations fall from his green visor. Quietly, Taro breathes out.

“I’m ready to do this,” he musters up confidence. “I want to help.”

Whenever his face plate is on, Taro can sense whatever emotion hides behind it. A warm smile seeps around the edges of Genji’s silver armor. Having his father there on the field will ease some of Taro’s worries, which he’s quietly thankful for.

“Everyday you keep reminding me how much of your mother is in you.” The bright glow of Genji’s visor allows a small but relieved smile to touch Taro’s mouth. “Especially with that Valkyrie suit on.”

Taro shifts in his seat at that, minding the two pair of wings at his back.

“What do you think?” he asks tentatively, “Mom and I have been working on it for a while.”

“So she’s told me,” Genji eyes Mercy at that. She smiles, despite her worry. “It looks sturdy, and fast. You’ll be hard to catch.”

At that, Taro beams, “That’s the idea, and to get to injured people faster.”

Genji nods, something akin to pride touches the metal covering his face. It touches his person. Like a river feeding into the ocean, it fills him with confidence. The ship jostles slightly as Reinhardt lumbers on board, boasting loudly at Taro’s unexpected appearance.

As the Orca takes off with Tracer’s voice echoing overhead, Taro mentally readies himself. The flight will take over eleven hours, but they’ll be there by the time the sun rises in Lijiang. He has more than enough time to mentally check over his suit and staff. The wings are the most worrisome. They’ve performed exceptionally when Mercy and he have tested them, but a long duration of it in action will truly see its endurance.

He insisted upon the extra pair of wings when his mother agreed to aid in designing his own Valkyrie suit. Mostly improving upon Mercy’s original design, the extra small, but effective wings will allow him to simply hover in the air. It also gives him a boosted jump by a few feet.  

A silent pray echoes in his heart for his suit, and his own abilities. This is for the the sake of those who need him, that need hope and mercy. He wills his hands to hold his staff steady. Straightening, he breathes along the weight of his Valkyrie suit.

This will be his chance to bring some peace to the world.

*

A difficult landing stirs Taro, but Genji’s hand gently shakes him to consciousness. It’s dark, but a gray dawn is just touching over the horizon in Lijiang. When he stands, he has to readjust his halo from slumping against Genji’s shoulder.

As the agents of Overwatch, a title which he now claims as his own, step out of the Orca, they all stop. The sight of the once beautiful, tall buildings glowing with lights is now destroyed. Small fires, collapsed structures and distant cries of anguish all scatter around the area. Already, emergency personnel are working, but the eyes of the people turn to them like the rising sun itself.

Hope. It blooms on their faces at the sight of them alone. Taro clings to that even as he stands at the edge of the broken city.

“Stay in my sights,” Mercy says as Reinhardt begins giving orders. “There could still be explosives that haven’t gone off yet.”

“Okay,” he nods. For a heartbeat, he looks to Mei. Her bottom lip trembles at the rumble but she steps forward when Reinhardt orders her and D.va to move with a firefighter crew.

It suddenly hits him as Genji pats his shoulder once before moving forward with Tracer. This is complete devastation. How many lives are lost to this terrorist act? How many more lives are mangled because of this hateful destruction? How many will suffer years after this?

“Taro,” Mercy calls, she’s already moving into the chaos, but her wings glow. A controlled grief touches her brow, but it doesn’t overwhelm her heart. She is only determined to heal and repair.

“Coming,” he answers, but it falls into the smoky wind as he flies to her. His four wings carry him securely. Mercy nods, before they set out into the heart of the disaster.

It has been only twelve hours since the bombings. Explosions occurred in three different buildings, which completely collapsed one of them. The attacks were focused on the Lucheng Interstellar company. For whatever the reasons, a terrorists wanted to hit the space organization.

There was no warning for the first one, but evacuations took place before the second and third one denoted. The second and third buildings have compromised structural integrity, but there are still people trapped within.

There are videos Taro’s watched of his father and mother in action. Genji’s swiftness in unparalleled, even as he scales the side of a building and throws a man over his shoulder. He descends without difficulty, and Mercy quickly looks over the rescued man.

His mother is more than he could have imagined. Her wings move as if a part of her nervous system, carrying her to those crying out for help. Awe moves through his heart at Mercy’s tender but swift care. Although he doesn’t understand their language, he knows their gratitude is given.

It seems as if every good and bad thing clashes within him, but he throws that away to help a limping woman away from a fire. Smoke causes most everyone to cough, but he doesn’t slow until she’s safety in the dawn’s light. Setting her on the ground, Taro kneels beside her. Her knee is bent awkwardly, but he must set it straight before healing it.

“It’s alright, I’m going to heal you,” he says in an attempt to mimic Mercy’s soft tone. “I have to straighten this first. It will hurt, but I’ll heal you right after.”

The woman only speaks Chinese, but nods when Taro shifts her leg. He grimaces with her as she groans in pain, but his staff is in his hands the next second. Healing her takes only a few heartbeats. As the yellow beam connects to her person, the woman no longer flinches painfully.

“It’s alright, see?” Taro smiles lightly. The woman nods. He helps her to her feet, before insuring she can walk properly. Directing her to the nearest first aid station, she walks away with a few more, soft words.

Standing still, Taro stalls for a moment. His staff remains in his hands as his wings hold out across his back. Even amidst this senseless violence and smoke, he’s helped at least one soul. If that is the only thing he does here, it is still a strong blow against those who wish to only harm.

When he turns back to the rumble, Mercy is standing on the edge of the building’s debris. The shadow of a tall building falls behind her, highlighting her angelic silhouette.

Does he look like that?

“Are you alright, Taro?” she asks as he activates his wings to fly to her. He stops just before her, and finds her gaze.

“Yes,” he smiles.

In the new day’s light, pride touches Mercy’s eyelashes. Quietly, she looks over him once, as if finally reassured.

“Come,  _herzchen_ ,” she turns her wings back to the ruined buildings. “People still need help.”

There isn’t as much time to observe his parents anymore. Zenyatta assists Mei with evacuating others through the smoky streets. A few cries of help come from a trapped family in the rumble, who are freed with Reinhardt’s and Lucio’s aid. Tracer will zip by occasionally, sometimes bringing water bottles and bandages, other times carrying a child to safety.

Mercy and Taro work tirelessly. There is always someone who needs help. The day begins to burn brighter as he follows his mother through the rubble and back out. He even witnesses her finding a newly collapsed man, who another claimed was dead. Swiftly, with the use of her staff and the raise of her hand, the man wakes. Resurrection is a last resort, but for the first time, he sees it in action.

That is the only thing Taro is unable to do with his suit and staff.  

Calls begin to ring out about moving the survivors even farther away from the damaged buildings. Fear of them giving away and collapsing without warning is very prevalent. Genji and D.va dive back into the rumble to insure there is no one else. Assisting his mother with moving a family, Taro looks back to the second building to be bombed.

Through the smoke, movement catches his eyes in a window on the 7th story. A faint outline of a person presses to this, before falling out of view. The next second, the window is broken, and a desperate hand reaches out.

He turns and runs towards the pleading palm. There isn’t any time, and Mercy is occupied with moving that family away from the destruction.

Taro comes almost to the base of the building while he steps over broken pieces of concrete. The arm waves out, and Taro locks onto it with his Guardian Angel flight mechanism. His wings expand, flaring out yellow as he flies upwards.

“Back up!” he cries just before hitting through the window entirely. His arms act as a shield against the shattering glass, but he lands on the floor without stumbling. Glass cuts his face as it falls off of his halo, but he stands with his staff.

He finds a woman and her child kneeling on office carpet. Rapid, panic words fall from the woman’s mouth but Taro gently shushes her as he steps towards them.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, looking over their trembling bodies. The woman is still speaking, but is somewhat quieter as the child in her arms cries. The little girl couldn’t be older than five.

“Don’t worry, I’ve with you. I’m going to get you both out of here, safe and sound, alright?” he eases as calmly as possible. He lifts his head back to the broken window, before surveying the office like floor they occupy.

He can’t float them both don’t to the ground. His suit can’t handle that much weight. Separately, maybe, but he won’t part the mother and her daughter. Looking back to their dust covered cheeks, and dark hair, Taro smiles reassuringly.

“We’re getting out of here.” He holds his arms out to the child in a silent question. The mother hesitantly lets him take her, even as she cries harder. Shifting her onto his hip, and his staff into his other hand, Taro stands. The mother follows suit as Taro guides her deeper into the building.

“Follow me,” he says. No lights flicker as they move through rooms, but the woman seems to know where to go as she points to a staircase. Relieved somewhat, he opens up the door to a pitch black stairwell.

Shifting his wings, he activates the boosters to light up, but not completely move him. The yellow light seems to calm the girl in his arms somewhat, for she shifts from bawling, to only sniffling. The mother grabs onto Taro’s arm as he balances the child and his staff. Down the steps, they take it as quickly as they can. The woman keeps speaking, but Taro helplessly has no idea what she is saying. He tries to keep his voice gentle while noting how many levels they are descending.

When the yellow from his wings lights up a door, the woman frantically points to it. Easing it open, The ground level opens up before them in a disarrange of smoke and crumbling walls. A stiff wind could very well topple the building onto its side. The entrance way was made of an automatic sliding door, but the glass and metal frame are shattered. It stays halfway open, enough to slip themselves through.

“We’re almost there,” he breathes as the child rubs away a tear. “Come on.”

He shifts the little girl in his arms, holding her close to his side as he leads the woman out of the stairwell. The ceiling overhead is splattered with fine, web like cracks. He keeps going, almost chanting that they are almost there.

When they cross over what was once a front desk, a booming blast echoes above. Groan of metal and breaking concrete moves through their bones. Towards the stairwell, the ceiling fractions overhead, and dumps debris. Taro only has enough time to jerk the woman out of the way when a slab of concrete falls directly upon his top left wing. The motion jerks him violently to the ground, pinning him. He hunches over the child reflexively. The little girl cries out as Taro takes a moment to gather his breath. Getting his back slammed against the ground almost deflated his lungs. He tries to move, but the tip of his wing is held tightly underneath the debris.

“Go!” He opens his arms, pushing the child to her feet. “Go! Get out of here!”

The mother grabs the hand of her daughter, but hesitates. Taro lifts his head to shout at them once more while pointing to the entrance. There is nothing they can do for him, and they need to get to safety. The woman stalls for a heartbeat. Another crack echoes overhead before she rushes her child through the entrance.

Taro breathes out once as they escape the building. His attention quickly falls back to his trapped position on his back, nearly laid out flat upon the ground. Over his left shoulder, the edge of his Valkyrie wing is held underneath solid stone. He’ll have to break it off.

Was that a leftover explosion? A bomb met to go off after the initial chaos? Perhaps it was a dud that missed its timing, only to take effect now.

The wing holds his armor stiffly in place. Taro struggles just to reach over and push himself away, but he remains unmoved. He’ll need force to break the wing.

Another crack echoes overhead. Taro doesn’t stop to see if the ceiling right above his person is splitting open. He lifts his staff to his other hand. Panic nearly floods his mouth but he bites his tongue. Holding the staff above him, he angles it behind his left shoulder. He thrusts the staff downwards with a loud cry of effort. His stiff position immediately relaxes as the Valkyrie wing breaks.

The groaning and cracking beings mercilessly building, like a landslide emerging inside his own head. Taro scrambles off of the ground and runs. He picks his feet up over pieces of the building and broken furniture. Madly, his heart pounds in his chest, joining the sounds of the explosion as he rushes to the exit.

A great crunch echoes as the building comes down. His uneven wings boost him to the doorway, but before he can see the sunlight, a form slams down onto his lower legs. The sheer pressure throws his entire body against the ground. Like a bird that was pelted out of the air with a stone.

His eyes don’t open as dust fills his mouth.  

*

It comes back slowly. Inch by inch, the blackness gives away to gray light. Dawn. No. Dust. Dust hides what little sunlight slips through the cracks between concrete and rubble. Gray surrounds him like a graveyard. On his stomach, he coughs weakly as he finally eases his eyelids open entirely. All of his bones and every space containing his skin feels rough and bruised. Except below his knees. That part of his body is empty, painless.

A stone slab is suspended directly over him, like a roof, with only a few inches of space. On either side, dusty light filters through. He’s not entirely contained.  

Voices trickle into his eardrums. The murmurs grow into steady words, then, the sound of his name.

“Taro,” the sound of heart sickening worry fills the voice, but holds steady. His mother. “Taro, can you hear me?”

He blinks once more, finding an awful, powdery cement taste in his mouth. Once he focuses his vision, white gold hair fills his view. Mercy is slipped between the floor and the slab he’s trapped under. Gently, she moves on her belly to reach out and place a breathing mask over his nose and mouth. Delicious, cool air suddenly flows over his tongue as she adjusts the strap over his head.

“Mom,” he almost moans. With consciousness comes the terrifying reality of his very close and trapped person. The only thing keeping his mind together is his drifting confusion, and the face of his mother.

“Taro,” she says. Her eyes are wide, set upon him as if fearing he’ll crumble away like the building did. “We’re just getting everything ready to move you. Are you in pain?”

Not terrible pain, but a vague sense of disturbing unease keeps touching around his rib cage. It wants to ignite his panic, but he’s simply too tired.

“No…” he trails off, almost closing his eyes.

“Taro, Taro, look at me,” she says quickly. Her halo keeps bumping against the concrete slab above them. “Your legs are trapped. We don’t know if this will hold much longer.”

She must mean his stone confinement. How has his entire body not been crushed into dust? Maybe that’s what he was tasting before. Everything already feels surreal, couldn’t this just be a hazy dream? Mercy doesn’t seem so unreal. In fact, the blatant worry masked by gentle reassurance keeps him on edge.

He still can feel every inch of his aching body except below his kneecaps.

“Mom,” he says, voice rising in panic.

“There’s no other way,” she quickly reaches out. Her fingers curl through his hair gently. The notion of squirming or trying to escape never actually manifests. Simply, the building urge to run away from the dread filling his chest keeps him aware. His limbs refuse to obey. His body doesn’t move, as if he’s a lifeless doll.

“Mom, I can’t feel my legs,” his voice cracks behind the breathing mask.

“I know. I know, but I’m going to make sure you get out of here,” Mercy says calming, “I’m going to take care of you, alright?”

Her voice is all too soft, and soothing, but he knows. She’s probably done this before. The deep grief moving across her cheekbones lingers as he stares wide eyed at her. Only once does Mercy stall in her comfort, and that’s to breathe in.

“You’ll only be asleep.” she continues. “You won’t feel anything. When you wake up, you’ll be safe. Everything will be alright.”

He wants to shake his head, to plea. There has to be another way. Maybe he can move.

He tires to. Not a muscle twitches within his body besides on his face. His brow crumbles as he stays in his mother’s gaze. There is no where else he can look, least he lose his already slippery hold. Other voices echo just outside of his stone confinement. If he squints, he can see past Mercy’s wings to pairs of legs standing close by.

“I’ve got you, Taro. Everything will be okay.” Her fingers stroke through his hair, light as feathers. His attention entirely shifts to the little soothing motion and clings to it.

Slowly, the taste of the air he’s breathing shifts to something less untouched. Anesthetic. He almost panics then, but Mercy shushes him as he tries to lift his head. The firm but gentle hold of her hand keeps him there as the medicine trickles into his lungs.

He falls slowly, but holds to Mercy’s comfort. Just as he hits the bottom, his eyes close.

*

This alertness comes sooner than before. It eases his eyelids open gradually, but he never falters. He knows this room like the back of his hand, but he’s never been the one laid out on the bed. The angle at which his head lays tilts his vision to the side.

There is still a slight ache, but it runs deeper. Like the need for sleep causing your head to become heavy. Except this runs throughout his entire body, save for his lower legs. The lingering effects of anesthesia stays with him, but its hold begins to loosen. Taro is all too aware of the ache pooling underneath his kneecaps.

His breath hitches as he turns his head. He’s slightly propped up on the hospital bed which allows a straightforward view of the door. There is no one else in the room, but voices fall underneath the closed doorway. He has no doubt his mother is only a few feet away.

He keeps his gaze dead ahead for a moment. Peeking at the bottom of his vision, he can only take in the fuzzy details of what he already knows. Another shudder runs through his lungs. The need to stop his hands from trembling causes his fingers to twist the sheets. Inhaling, as if he might lose himself, Taro looks down his person.  

A muted tan blanket covers his lower half. It crumples over his waist before becoming disturbed at the space of his thighs underneath. Beyond that, emptiness takes over. His kneecaps serve only as stubs.

He stares until his eyesight becomes blurry. Whether it’s from not blinking, or simply its own emotion rising at his new reality, he’s not sure. The rest of the bed where his feet and toes should be mock him with its smooth covers.

His Valkyrie suit is gone, leaving him in only a flimsy hospital gown. Slowly, his throat closes up, choking him of his air.

Will he ever fly again? He will ever rush to someone in need while on his four wings?

Freeing his fingers from the twisted sheets, he leans forward. It almost makes him dizzy, but there is no relenting. Like ripping off a band-aid, he pulls back the sheets.

Bandages wrap around his knees and lower thighs. The agony within his flesh just before this magnifies into a ripped and tore sensation. His jaw opens, parted in a silent wail. There is nothing that makes him whole. He has been taken apart and left upon the floor in pieces.

The door opens. From the hallway, Mercy and Genji find Taro collapsing upon himself like a dying star. What he once saw as an open future slowly burns away to dust. All because he can no longer stand on his own, natural, flesh.

“Taro,” his mother breathes in the softest plea, but that is not what finally shoves the blockaged in his throat. It’s the sight of Valentine’s black bangs falling into her blood shot eyes that causes him to give everything up.

His eyes scrunch close as he sobs once. In little time, Mercy’s arms wrap around his shoulders. Genji’s prosthetic hand takes his own in way of comfort. A soft cry falls from Valentine’s voice. She only manages to say his name before her voice cracks.

He must look pathetic, but he doesn’t care. His lower legs are gone. What is he now? Not whole? A permanent victim? Ruined beyond repair? The thoughts alone make his breaths hitch harder in his chest.

Mercy presses her cheek into his hair, holding him together. Quietly, his father’s gently voice fills him, but reassurance feels empty now. There is nothing that can bring back his own limbs. His other hand is taken swiftly as a tear stained cheek is touched against his knuckles. Valentine. She doesn’t cry. She’s not crying anymore, but she was.

“Taro,” Genji says firmly. His broken chest stalls once at his direct tone. “We’re with you. We’ll help you heal.”

Taro blinks away tears. Struggling through a sob, he finds his father’s mask-less face. The light color of his eyes mirror his own, and they are spilling over with heartbreaking worry but hold steady.

“Dad…” Taro’s lip trembles. As his father’s prosthetic hand clutches his in a vice, he doesn’t take away Taro’s comfort. He knows what it’s like to look for a lifeline while physically damaged.

Mercy’s kiss finds itself along his temple.

“It won’t hurt forever, Taro. I promise,” she murmurs gently. “You’re going to be okay.”

Taro blinks once, finding Valentine’s gaze stuck upon him like glue. No more tears drip from her eyes, but there is a terrible grimness hiding behind her stiff mask. Slowly, he looks back to the empty space below his knees.

“Did… did you do the amputation?” he asks like a shaky breeze.

Mercy nods, pulling away to hold him in her blue gaze but never lifts away her comforting embrace.

“Yes, I made it as clean as possible. There wasn’t a lot of time left. Taro…” her voice cracks before she collects herself. “I could have lost you. An entire building came down over you but only your legs were taken. Somehow… Some miracle kept you alive underneath all that rubble.”

Her near trembling words revive something within his soul. At his mother’s heavy brow, and the way her arms tighten around him, her worry for him comes to life in an entirely new aspect.

“What were you thinking?” she sudden asks. Her fingers hold onto him as if for dear life. “Why did you run into that building without telling me? Taro, you knew it could collapse at any moment.”

Taro swallows once. On reflex, his squeezes his father’s hand. He holds Genji’s stare for a second, which is just as conflicted, before returning to Mercy’s.

“I needed to help someone. A woman and her daughter…” he trails off into a pause before looking back to her. “Are they okay?”

Mercy blinks slowly before she finds her voice.

“Yes. They’re safe.”

A slow breath leaves his lungs. His focus shifts back to his lost, lower legs before falling back against the bed. Quickly, Mercy looks over his vitals.

“Rest,” Genji says. “Don’t worry about anything else right now.”

A weight seems to be falling onto his chest. He wants to sleep, but Valentine still waits quietly. She let go of his hand when he laid back, but now her mouth holds tightly.

“I’m glad you’re back home,” she says. The strictest control over her voice causes it to almost be silent. “You worried me, Taro.”

He almost smiles at her, but finds everything too heavy. Even his own lips can’t be lifted.

“I’m sorry, Val,” he murmurs.

She shakes her head, but doesn’t say another word. Genji turns to her. They share a look before Genji’s arm wraps around her shoulders in comfort. For a moment, his entire family is connected to him with embraces and warm touches. He breathes it in like oxygen. The smallest molecule of strength finds its way into his heart.

“Mom? Will I ever be able to walk again?” he asks tentatively.

“I’ve already contacted the same engineer who built your father’s prosthetics,” Mercy says calmly. “We will have to wait some time for you to heal, but you will walk again.”

He stills at the thought of something aside from his own bones and muscles holding him up and allowing him to walk. It sends a jolt of fear into his chest but Genji holds his gaze.

“We will help you heal, Taro,” he says once more, breathing quiet relief into Taro’s body. His ribcage clings to the notion while the ache in his stumps flare. The weight near crushing his bones are held aloft for precious seconds.

As Mercy begins explaining the next steps in his healing, including getting him prosthetics, sweet medicine trickles into his veins. It stops the pain while his family keeps the crumbling world off of his weary shoulders.

*

He thought it would be a slow recovery but he still finds himself overwhelmed with helplessness, and worry of his body. The sense of being trapped keeps him struggling to breathe at random intervals. As if the building is still crumbling upon him. When his stumps aren’t aching, he finds his entire body off balance. He reels and tilts and sometimes wonder if he still feels his toes. A quick glance to the smooth blanket below his knees always tells him no.

He has to wait and stay in bed while his legs heal from the amputation somewhat. A mixture of restlessness and fatigue keeps him suspended in a sort of limbo. He falls asleep to not have to keep staring at his lost lower legs.  

A night, he’ll randomly wake up with a start. Mercy sleeps on a cot close by, and usually hears him cry out. He panics, remembering the taste of dust and the earth shattering cracks of cement overhead. His mother arms hold him, cradling his head as he fights to see the dim room he lies in as safe and sound. The comfort in her voice eventually finds him and calms his rushing blood. After, she kisses his hair, and promises him that he’s safe.

He only believes her while she hugs him.

In the morning after episodes like that, he wakes to his father at his bedside. Genji speaks calmly, and soothes his soul of the difficulties he’ll face with his missing limbs. He helps him through calming exercises as Mercy changes the bandages wrapping his stumps. Afterwards, when Mercy leaves for a few minutes, Taro confesses his fear.

Genji reassurance is a island among a stormy sea. The prosthetic for his legs will work, and he’ll walk again. It will be difficult to adjust to, but he will come to see the prosthetics as his own. The pain and fear he felt from that day may be haunting, but he’ll learn to put that ghost to rest. Slowly, the panic from the dark morning fades into something manageable.

Valentine sees him every day. Usually she’s carrying a tray of food or a small gift from some of the other Overwatch agents. Mercy is keeping the visitors away for now, allowing him to adjust quietly. The chair beside his bed is usually occupied by a family member, but when Valentine sits down, she only utters a few words or so.

Her tendency to fall stoic in the face of a trial always befuddles Taro. He can’t figure out if she’s angry at him for worrying her, or if she’s simply trying to contain her sadness. Whenever he tries to apologize, or ask her what she’s thinking, she shakes her head. She only tells him to rest.

Before she leaves, she’ll mention Jacqueline fretting about him, or Uncle Hanzo wanting to see him. She always speaks about little comforts from others that Taro clings to. She gives him a tight smile before leaving with a swift hug.

He lays back down, trying to not shift his thighs too much.

After roughly a week and a half, Taro still asks for more time from visitors. For the most part, he focuses on the prosthetics that should be arriving soon. The thought of not being contained in this small bed keeps him looking to the future. Mercy warns him that the procedure to attach the prosthetics will be slightly painful, but she will be the one doing it. That is the only comfort he needs.

Late in the evening, Genji and Mercy leave to get him dinner. As they depart, leaving him alone for only a few minutes, Taro can’t help but wonder if they’re tired of constantly taking care of him.

The anxious edge of his mullings nearly distract him from the door being pushed open. He stills as two heads pop inside to peek around.

“Ana? Magdala?” he asks as he quickly shifts a pillow from behind his back to cover his stumps. “What are you two doing here?”

“Checking up on you, of course,” Magdala announces as she and her twin sister slip inside. Their footsteps pad quietly as they both move to either side of his bed. Tensing for only a moment, Taro insures the pillow hides his kneecaps.

“I thought my mom wasn’t allowing any visitors,” he asks, visibly confused.

Their eyes flit across his bed to share a knowing look before grinning innocently back at him.

“Oh no, that rule is totally still in place,” Ana says, “that’s why we have to keep this short.”

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Taro laughs quietly.

“Must you two always break the rules?” he asks playfully. As if he didn’t realized he needed such a light hearted presence, he welcomes them both.

“Hey, sometimes there’s no other way around the mountain except through it,” Ana shrugs nonchalantly.

“But we’re not here just to if we could slip past Mercy,” Magdala grins. She shifts her arms behind her back to suggest she holds something. “We wanted to see you and give you this.”

Magdala presents a neatly, silver wrapped package. Studying her face for a moment, before flickering over to Ana’s eager expression, he takes the box.

“You two really didn’t have to,” Taro almost murmurs.

Both girls cut a hand through the air, dismissing his concern.

“Just open it,” Ana presses impatiently.

Feeling the edge of a smile lift the corner of his mouth, he tugs off the wrapping. A plain white box greets him before he finds the edge. The lid lifts easily. Nestled in silver foils and elegant sections of smooth squares, genuine, swiss chocolate looks back up at him.

Taro almost gasps at the sight, “How did you get this?”

The girls give him a look to which he replies, “Forget I asked.”

It shouldn’t make him tremble and smile all at once. When he looks between Ana and Magdala, his throat empties of any thanks. Wordlessly, as if scheming on how exactly to help him feel better, Ana and Magdala both wrap their arms around him. He can only manage to hook one of his arms around either twin, but he holds them tightly. Their heads fall against his shoulders in bright comfort. It lasts for a heartbeat before they step away.

“I’m glad you’re still here with us, Taro,” Magdala says softly, brushing back her long, blonde tipped hair.

“Yeah,” Ana smiles, “What she said.”

He still can’t find the strength to summon any words but he does bow his head deeply.

“We’ve got to run,” Ana says, already stepping to the door. The shaved side of her head turns to listen for authority. “Can’t afford to get caught now and ruin this enchanting evening.”

Magdala looks away from her sister back to him. Softly, she reaches out and curls her fingers loosely around his hand. Her smile still holds like a safe haven.

“Let us know if you need anything,” she says. Before he can squeeze her hand in thanks, she’s rushing across the room, and slipping out of the door alongside Ana.

Their voices echo faintly just outside. Straining to listen to their chatter, Taro even holds his breath.

“Are you blushing?”

“Wait? No. Shut up before we get caught.”

“Oh come on, we’re not going to get caught—”

Ana’s sentence cuts off to what he can only assume is a curse in Spanish. Rapid footsteps echo before everything falls silent. Taro breathes in. He fills his chest as he looks back down to the little box of chocolates.

The twins didn’t stare at his missing parts, or even asked how he was doing. He almost can’t believe the relief that overwhelms him. As if he’s just as whole as before.

Moving the pillow off of his stumps, he stalls for a moment. They ache now. The odd sensation of no longer being able to wiggle his toes still adjusts within him. It feels wrong and terrifying, but he’s finding it less foreign. Soon, he’ll even have his own prosthetics.

He takes one chocolate from the center and bites into the corner. The authentic sweetness of the Swiss design settles his chest. The twin’s swift hug, and Magdala’s gentle hand holding his keeps a warmth radiating in his skin.

The chocolate may be getting to him, but everything feels just a little lighter now. Or perhaps, he’s grown a little stronger.


	18. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji comforts Taro as he struggles with his new prosthetics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gency child, Taro. 
> 
> Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

His son’s fists latch onto the edge of the bed. Nearly bowing his head, his shoulders hunch as tension tightens his jaw. Genji moves quickly. His hand rests on his backside as he tries to see his face.

“Are you in pain?” Genji asks quickly but calmly. Panic won’t help Taro. “Do I need to get your mother?”

A day has passed since the painful operation of attaching the prosthetics to Taro’s remaining legs. Mercy’s hands were especially steady as Taro did his best to not move and cry out. Genji was there, helping keep his shoulders down least his son fight back too harshly.

On the same bed, Taro struggles. This time, he adjusts to the ghostly feeling of artificial nerves and metal plating. Just below his knees, silver prosthetic legs and feet attempt to move naturally.

“No,” he pushes out between his teeth. “No… I’m not in pain.”

Genji stills. He’s seen this same scene before—experienced it himself. It does not split Taro’s heart in half, but it still makes him question, and doubt. What burns through his soul is twisting his view of himself. 

“Taro, look at me,” Genji speaks softly, but firmly.

His son’s eyes lift. The same color of his own irises shimmer with despair.

“Dad,” his voice is a meek whisper. Genji’s hand rubs gently around his shoulder blade to calm his heavy breaths. “How did you get use to… this?”

Taro’s words fall, but his gaze is direct. A hidden plea to make this all better resides in his cheekbones.

There were never nightmares of his own children experienced what he did, until they started joining the fight too. The thought never paralyzed his soul until he witnessed Mercy operate underneath a part of a collapsed building that was threatening to fall at any moment onto their son. She freed Taro, and Genji carried him back onto the airship to rush him back home.

Composing his face, Genji weighs his words carefully.

“Taro,” he breathes heavily for a moment, “I struggled for a long time with my prosthetics. I felt alienated. Not.. entirely human. I didn’t know if I could be anything but a jumbled body of parts and pieces.”

His words seem to confirm a fear within his rib cage, for Taro’s eyes crinkle with emotion. Gently, Genji lifts his other hand. The prosthetic palm presses to his son’s chest, right above his beating heart. Taro unconsciously straightens under his touch. 

“But I came to know that the heart of a man still beats inside of me.”

Taro breathes out slowly, finding his father’s gaze once again. More a moment, they both feel his heart. It beats steadily within him.

“You could have lost so much more, like me, but your heart is still beating. You’re alive. Breathing. Your heart makes you who you are, whatever you decide to be.”

Taro’s gaze moves slowly. As if seeing his lower metallic jaw and scars for the first time, Taro looks at him. Truly looks at him. Genji smiles.

He would never want his children to see the state of his person while he was in Blackwatch. But, if only Taro could have seen him before, compared to who he is now, that would have given him proof. It would have given him certain hope that everything gets better. 

All he can rely on now is his father’s word, and his heart, to get him through the worst of it. 


	19. Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magdala knows that Taro likes Chimini.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McSombra twins, Ana and Magdala. Gency child, Taro. The student of Zenyatta, Chimini.
> 
> Angst. Unrequited love.

Magdala is smart.

She’s no stranger to this fact. Countless times her wit and sharp mind have carried her far. Her fingertips move with clever passion and her eyes observe every motion, snatching up information like a hawk diving upon a mouse.

The moment she sees Taro and Chimini in the same room, it strikes her hard. His eyes fall upon Chimini like she is the sun itself. He’s shy, awkward. A newfound energy moves through him that terrifies and awakens every one of his senses. His pure, brown eyes crash upon her with longing.

It is nothing like the comfortable, snorting laughs Magdala and Taro share on lazy afternoons. His stumbling, near paralyzed words brushing against Chimini’s eardrums are different from the whispered, tired tones he managed to speak to Magdala in his mother’s lab late at night.

There is no doubt in Magdala’s mind. There is no question she can ask him.

She knows who’s to blame for the dull pain threatening to saw through her ribs.

She was too comfortable and afraid all at once. The fluffed up texture of his hair bobs with his head when he nods in thought. The light makes his irises a brighter brown that melts through her center. She loves their friendship. She only ever dared to touch his hand once in something beyond platonic, but he didn’t see past the window Magdala tried to break.

Chimini is older. She’s confident. She’s strong. Her laugh stuns Taro. Her smile knocks him off her feet. A single word from her pretty mouth has him stumbling to match its sweet echo.

Magdala watches it silently. They walk together often. Sometimes to the garden, where Taro and she spent a few early mornings, away from the noise and people.

She should have acted. She should have been quicker. She knew—she knew—that she couldn’t have him like that forever. She loves being his friend, but it never satisfies her entirely.

Worry took over her ambition and longing. It wormed its way into her head like a virus. She didn’t keep her walls up properly. It began to infect every thought laced with Taro and even the idea of touching his hand again.

It’s too easy to ruin wonderful things. Magdala still wants him close, if not entirely for her own. Before this, doubt bled into every corner of her mind; a symptom of the virus. If she told the truth, would he have laughed? Would he have tousled her hair like a child and said she’s like a sister to him? If he knew how she felt, would he turn cold and go far away, for fear of leading her onto something he never intended?

The only way to secure Taro always being able to laugh at a stupid joke about their prosthetics was to be friends. It didn’t sate the desire in her chest that she thought she could contain. Only chattering to him after a long day could even settle the thoughts of longing and want. It did nothing to cure the virus in her head, but it made it quiet for a few minutes.

It’s the stupidest thing she’s ever done.

Her chance is gone. Taro is gone.

He still laughs with her over a stupid joke. He still listens when she rants about her siblings or he tells her that he’s tired. He’s still here. He’s still her friend.

That’s what she made happen, didn’t she? She cemented him into never being hers. She made certain it would stay with them. A friendship. Platonic laughter and conversations, even late into the night.

But nothing more.

Their friendship is never the same as Chimini beckons him forward with one finger. Taro notices when Magdala moves their closeness an inch apart. He asks if she likes Chimini.

She doesn’t hate her. She wants to, but it’s not her fault. It’s not Taro’s fault either.

Magdala’s mistake stares up at her, naked and stark in its own existence. She makes herself look at it again, over and over, to learn from this. To never repeat it.

She does everything to hide it from everyone else. Anytime Noé asks about Taro, she rolls her eyes and makes a comment about him being with his new girlfriend. Her voice is casual and in her usual tones, covering the slight bitterness she tastes. She and her sister stand in a room together in view of Taro and Chimini standing closely, almost touching pinky fingers. Ana never finds the longing in Magdala’s irises. Ana never guesses at what her imagination is stirring up while looking at the space beside him. In Magdala’s mind, it’s filled with her instead of Chimini.

Above all else, she never lets Taro see the ache in her creaking rib cage.

When she comes across him holding Chimini’s hand, she only smiles and teases them. Taro is slightly embarrassed, but he still looks at the other girl warmly, fixating himself around her gravitational pull.

Magdala is smart. She doesn’t confess her feelings. She doesn’t confess her want. She doesn’t force Taro to let her down easy. She doesn’t make Chimini listen to her silly, desperate plea.

The stupidest thing she’s ever done falls behind her back. The never attempted, half chance, and quiet want that was never spoken, stains her mind like black ink. It soaks into ever gray squiggle of her brain. It stays, reminding her in every moment to never make the same mistake again.


	20. Red Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine gets her dragon tattoos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gency kids, Valentine and Taro. Widowhanzo child. 
> 
> Needles. Slight Violence.

Dragons are deeply ingrained into Valentine’s family. Great, mystical spirits of power and energy reside within her father and her uncle. They are called out through war cries and tattoos to fight and defend. Roars fill every mind. Bright, colorful light comes upon those who stand in a Shimada’s way. The spirits empower the bearer’s heart and soul.

When she was a child, two, small beings of red light emerged from her blanket as she laid in bed. They were harmless then, reflecting her soul, but Genji knew their true image. Her two dragons had appeared before, but this was her first comprehension of their presence.

Only a Shimada can control the dragons.

Genji told her stories before she fell asleep. The tales often begins with two dragons who are brothers. Sometimes in the stories, they are prideful and loyal. Others turn into sadness as one dragon strikes down the other, leaving only one to walk the earth in his sorrow.

He told her this as she first touched the strange, miniaturized dragons. Red whiskers brushed against her skin as they coiled in her lap. Back then, they simply kept with her. She wasn’t ready to fight like her father and uncle. She must first grow, and harness her own soul before taking upon her spirit dragons.

The first moment Taro’s dragon appeared, both she and Genji witnessed it. The small, yellow being crawled out of her brother’s swaddled clothes, and brushed against the infant’s cheek. Joy spilled across her father’s face. Genji told Valentine that Taro’s dragon appeared like hers did when she was a newborn.

Her mother has never been afraid of the dragons in their blood. When first learning that not everyone has dragons like herself, Taro and Genji, Mercy gathered her into her arms. Her soft voice explained the side of the family this gift comes from. Constantly, she reassured Valentine that the spirits are her choice. They only expect her to make the decision that leads her to happiness.

What she wants is already in front of her, just inches out of her grasp. Valentine approaches her parents the day after her 18th birthday. They already sense what is on her mind.

“I want to get the dragon tattoo,” she says firmly. “I want to fight with my dragons.”

Her mother’s face is steady, somber. Bracing for a definitive ‘no’ and a waterfall of worry does nothing to take away the shock of their mutual look. Her father isn’t surprised, but holds caution in his eyes.

“We don’t expect you to do this, Valentine,” Mercy says softly.

“I know.” She touches her chest. “I want this for myself.”

“Valentine.” her father’s voice causes her to straighten her already rod like back. “Do you understand that this is a ceremony to celebrate taking on the dragons, and not an actual giving of them to you, as they already reside within you?”

“I understand,” her voice stays steady. She knows that the beasts already live within her. They have almost appeared in rare occurrences during training and the few moments she felt her life threatened.

The ceremony to welcome the dragons, and receive the tattoos, is one of the stories her father has told her. Both her and Hanzo went through such an event. It is a coming of age ritual.

She wants nothing more then to experience it herself.

Genji looks back to Mercy. She gives a nod. Valentine’s heartbeat picks up with what lies in the future. The weight of the responsibility she will carry presses into her shoulders.

“Hanzo and I will discuss this matter, but we will prepare to leave soon.”

Joy breaks across her lips in a smile. The same energy stirs in Genji and Mercy, mixed with the worry of watching their child grow up. Her mother kisses her hair, smoothing black bangs out of her eyes.

Her younger brother smiles when she tells him the good news. When she turns away for a moment, she doesn’t see the faint, insecure shine in his sepia irises. Taro is strong in ways Valentine still hopes to be. Yet, he has never expressed interest in the dragons like she has. The goals he seeks don’t align with her own.

Still, he wonders if Genji wishes his son was more like his daughter.

The next evening, Hanzo takes Valentine outside. The moon is almost full as the stars twinkle. The beginning of summer warms the earth even after dark.

“Why do you want the dragon tattoo?” he asks her. One sharp lock frames his face, as stern as him.

“I want to fight, and defend,” she speaks from her very heart. “I want to be worthy of the dragons.”

Her uncle’s stare pierces through her. It’s as if he is as much of a judge as the dragons themselves. For a moment, the light in his eyes falls to past memories before he lifts his chin.

“You are ready then,” he says. The affirmation falling from his lips lifts Valentine’s entire frame.

It’s only four days later that Valentine sits on the Orca with Genji and Hanzo. Tracer pilots the airship swiftly to Japan. Nerves in her stomach twist through her chest and throat. The anticipation of what is to come, and the bracing impact for the future she embraces, stare back at her.

Valentine will see her father’s and uncle’s home for the first time in her life. Her eyes will drink in the place of her heritage. She will walk through the space her grandmother and grandfather lived in.

But first, they must break into the Shimada Castle.  

She has trained with Genji and Hanzo before. Her stealth and agility were while remaining undetected were tested, but this is entirely new. For once, she isn’t protected on the watchpoint. This is the open world, and very real.

Before they leave the Orca, Genji reveals a rectangular box. A simple red bow covers the white package as he places it in her arms.

“From your mother,” he tells her, smiling.

Her heart swells as she lifts the top. Nestled in pink tissue paper resides a long, red sash. She takes the soft cloth in her hands, before looping it around her waist. The ends drape down her left side like a too large ribbon—or the tail end of a bird.

Mercy’s silent blessing of protection fills her bones. Not even concrete could break her now.

At midnight, under a full moon, they set out into the city of Hanamura. Upon rooftops and walls, they cross and scale. Her teachings do not fail her as she keeps pace with Genji and Hanzo. Her father keeps half of his attention on her, as her uncle stays close to her side. She doesn’t slip, or fall, or make noise, but they still prepare to catch her.

Genji warns that men are guarding the Shimada Castle. She must let them engage first before she enters the fight.

There are videos, and even her own first hand experience of watching her father and uncle fight together, but the sight still stuns her like electricity. Hanzo’s arrows whistle quietly as they pin omnics uselessly to the wall. Shurikens find their mark before the brothers descend upon the remaining suited men. A sword knocks away a gun as Genji kicks then hurls a guard to the ground. Hanzo’s bow blocks a knife before twisting the man’s arm.

There is one remaining at the edge of the shrine. He runs behind the bell. Valentine finds her opportunity. Drawing her weapon, one kama, she gives chase.

The guard frees a pistol from inside his jacket. Turning, he aims it at her heart. The kama, nestled in her palm like a second hand, twists around his wrist. Her brow is hard, focused. Adding more pressure, the man drops the gun with a grunt. Valentine slides around to his back, bringing his arm behind him painfully as she strikes a fist into his side. A harsh breath leaves his lungs. A kick to the back of his leg causes him to drop to his knees. Valentine stands above him. Nearly baring her teeth, the heel of her hand slams into the side of his skull.

The guard topples to the ground, unconscious.

She steps away, shifting her kama as she looks back. Genji and Hanzo stand at the edge of the shrine. Lowering his bow, her uncle tucks an arrow into the quiver along his back. Calmly, Genji sheaths his sword. They view her victory with satisfaction.

A breath falls from her mouth as she slips her kama back into its sheath along her waist. Facing them, she holds her shoulders strong. There is no doubt within her tonight. This is the desires of her heart calling out. This is her time to take her place among her family, and shoulder the burden of the fight.

“Are you ready, Valentine?” Genji’s voice expands her iron will.

“Yes,” she answers firmly.

“Let’s go on then,” Hanzo says.

On both sides of her person, they lead her away from the shine towards a cherry blossom tree. The Shimada Castle looms just behind it. Several branching buildings lay out in front, like arms attached to a body. Several stories climb into the midnight sky. Power and wealth is undeniable in the sight of its slanted roof and towering height.

“This is where you were raised?” She asks Genji first, but looks to Hanzo.

“Yes,” Genji speaks softly. Emotions touch through his words, but the mixture is too heavy to dilute.

A silent glance is shared between the two men. Valentine doesn’t disrupt it, but continues onward. The memories they find in the wood of the railings, and the soft yellow light can’t be easy to embraced. The image of Genji and Hanzo as two young boys is difficult to grasp, but she attempts to place them underneath the cherry blossom tree.

Taro would have liked this.

Taking her own path, Valentine strides through the opening. Just behind her, she loses the supporting presence of her father and uncle. Tearing her gaze away from the mural on the back wall, Valentine turns halfway back, but doesn’t retrace her steps.

“Dad?” she asks.

They stay in the shadow of the entrance. Just outside of the light’s reach, they almost appear as ghosts. Genji’s face plate stares back, holding a quiet resolute to the metal. There is something unreadable in Hanzo’s eyes. Yet, he still looks to her expectantly, as if unable to doubt her strength to go through with this.

“This is where you perform the ceremony,” Genji says, “Just as your uncle and I did when we were young.”

“You must do this on your own, Valentine.” Hanzo’s gaze doesn’t leave her.

The weight of the situation lays upon her. The dragons are hers alone to take upon. Her hands will lead them as she deems fit. Their power will fill only her bones and blood. To take on their essence, and let them run through her soul, is her ability. Her choice.

They are her dragons.

She will do this alone.

Drawing breath, it fills her chest as she nods. There is only support and confidence in Genji’s and Hanzo’s frames. Turning away, she steps down the small bridge leading into the center of the open room.

A scroll falls against a strip of wall. Containing her beating heart, she lowers herself to the ground in a kneeling position in front of this. Desire burns through her fingertips. From the small bag secured along her back, she frees a small, short bundle of golden rice stalks, a red-tailed hawk feather, incense sticks and a censer.

The routine is set deeply in her mind. The first displays of Hanzo, and then Genji performing it before her holds promptly in her mind.

Her soul is set before the house of her family, and the judgement of the dragons.

The ceremony begins with Valentine carefully setting out her chosen offerings. Slowly, she starts the ends of the agarwood incense sticks smoldering with several matches. Wood mixed with spice seeps into her senses. Small smoke trails slither upwards. She delicately places the blackened sticks into the censer. The rice stalk bundle is gingerly placed to the left of the incense. The red-tailed hawk feather, handled with only her fingertips, is set to the right.

At the very edges of her awareness, Genji and Hanzo watch her. They are merely observers to a ceremony that will lift her status within a multi-generation long tradition. It is passed from their hands to her shoulders.

Agarwood twists through the air, filling her lungs. Straightening, Valentine stares at the ripped corner of the scroll. It cuts diagonally upwards in an almost perfect slash. Dark matter splatters around the tear. A stand holds two swords, one smaller than the other. The smaller one’s blade shines as the blue tipped handle of the larger sword is sheathed.

Thick, black calligraphy depicts four kanji stacked one upon the other. Its direct translation is ‘dragon head, snake tail,’ but it stands as a maxim. Meaning, a fast start and a slow finish, or, anticlimax.

Maybe that is the path she looks down. It will rush her, devour her in its entirety before letting her seek the end calmly during a great length. At least, she hopes. There is so much she wants to do and be able to understand immediately. This is the first real leap she is taking on her own.

She will leap, and then soar.  

Slowly, she closes her eyes. Deep controlled breaths lift her chest as the energy in her center begins to burn.

The first memory of two, small spiritual beings come first. The glowing, snake sized creatures cross the blanket to touch her face. Genji’s voice tells her stories about the dragon of the south wind and the dragon of the north wind. Roars fill her mind, as if echoing within her own consciousness. Words rest on the tip of her tongue. She parts her lips in an effort to taste them.

A quiet breath leaves her mouth. Her eyelids lift. Red energy basks her in light, dousing everything else in dimness. Two looming dragons float in the air. Whiskers fall back against their maws as their jaws are bared open, as if ready to eat her. The great beings’ bodies twist around each other, like ribbons about to tie the knot of a bow. An overwhelming sense of power threatens Valentine’s bones. At the mercy of the dragons, with wide eyes, she gapes at their powerful forms.

The judgement of her honoring and person stays in their red, glinting eyes. Remembering herself, Valentine manages to move her limbs. The desires burning in her heart amplifies tenfold in their red light. She bows her head to the dragons as she touches her fingertips in front of her. Black bangs falls against her face. She does not flatter herself upon the ground, as she does not give herself entirely to them, but she does show respect.

She is only what she is trying to be. A warrior. A leader. A defender of the world. She is strong, and decisive, and swift. Her thoughts are calm amidst the sea of chaos. Her focus is on the mission they complete that stop the adversaries advances. To protect those who are without protection.

She will defend with these powerful spirits. They will fill her blows and blocks. Within her center, they will help her carry those who count on her.

She will defend.

With her head still bowed, the dragons waver through the air like ribbons. Their jaws widen, ready to devour. The red spirits cross over each other once in the air before striking forward.

Refusing to blink, they climb up her arms and burst into her chest. Reflectively, Valentine straightens. The beings disappear into smoky effects of red energy. Roars grow within her mind of two, distinct beasts. Her heart thunders. The blood in her veins runs. Her lungs expand.

The dragons become her.

In one slow motion, she rises to her feet. The spirits that were a part of her soul from birth make themselves known within her chest. The roars within her mind are a steady drum to the fight she carries.

The burning desires in her heart spread. Heating up her skin, especially along her arms, she unsheathes her kamas. Her name and person become another set of scales among the dragons. They know her. They honor her fight. They give themselves to her.

Only a Shimada can control the dragons.

Through the ocean blue of her eyes, a red glow emits. Snaking, smoking effects of energy wrap down her arms as she twirls her sickle like weapons. In a burst of red power and two great roars, dragons emerge from her kamas. Circling her sides, the red spirits twist around her in a protective motion as they jaws open. The words waiting on her tongue finally spring free.

“The dragons will defend!”

Her war cry moves the dragons with her kamas. Directing them with the curved blades, they rise into the air. Their long, slithering bodies cut in front of her. Almost instantaneously, she calls the power back. The spirits slip away with her kamas as she sheaths them.

Valentine remains. She stands, breathless, empowered, and absolutely amazed.

Somehow, she turns away from the scroll and the mural of the dragons upon the wall. Over the bridge, Genji and Hanzo already walk towards her. She takes one certain step, and then another.

Stopping before them, the thought of the dragons physically in her chest makes her look down. There are only her dark clothes covering her. Even as her arms buzz with waning energy, nothing is left on her skin. The only change is in her soul.

How can she appear the same, when her body embraces a new strength?

“Valentine,” her father says, overjoyed but worried.

Reaching out, Hanzo places his arm on her shoulder.

“You’ve taken upon your dragons.” Subtle, but still shining pride touches Hanzo’s usually heavy brow.

Valentine smiles. She still tries to gather her breath. Blinking slowly, she anchors herself back to the present world. Her heart burns again, but only with exhilaration at the expressions of her father’s and uncle’s faces.

“I can call them now,” she speaks in a steady voice. “The dragons are a part of me.”

“I know. I’m proud of you,” Genji speaks, stepping closer to her. Valentine is swift, and buries her cheek against his chest before he can wrap his arms around her. Gently, he presses his face plate to her hair.

They can’t linger for much longer. After she gathers up her offerings and incense, Valentine rejoins her father and uncle. A heaviness resides in the air between the brothers. A look is shared between them before all three walk back out of the castle. She can only guess at a few of the memories they share.  

She stops at the cherry blossom tree and picks three petals. Stowing them into her bag, she thinks of how much Taro and Mercy will enjoy them. The last one is for her. Genji touches her shoulder before they steal away into the night.

Her heart settles as they climb and cross rooftops. A new emotion resides behind her ribs. At a moment, she can conjure up her dragons, and hold their power as her own. A new, blazing determination takes over her thoughts. She will never dishonor them, or her family.

“When can I get my tattoos?” she asks, hiding her impatience.  

They’re almost back to the airship as Genji turns to her. The green line of his visor hides his eyes, but the emotion in the neon fills her lungs with anticipation.

“In the morning.”

_Irezumi_ is a traditional Japanese tattoo. The process will take careful hours, done only by a few masters, and is painful.

The Shimada Clan once had their own  _horishi_ , tattoo artist. They can’t bring her to him. Hanzo will take her to someone that can be trusted, and still knows the Shimada Clan’s dragon design.

Before the crack of dawn, with only a few hours of sleep, Hanzo and Genji cautiously take Valentine into the lower side of Hanamura. Buildings are worn down, and slanted roofs are threatening to fall. There is dirt and trash in the streets. Slipping into an alleyway, Genji hovers close to his daughter as Hanzo knocks on a  _shōji_.  

The long, painful hours ahead of her do little to dampen the desire to be marked with the dragons. Valentine dreams of the ink swirling on her skin.

After a few exchanges in Japanese, the door opens. Hanzo motions for Valentine and Genji. They walk under a dim roof sheltering several tables and chairs sprawling out in the dingy space. An older woman with wrinkles and a top knot in her black hair leads them to a backspace. The set up is smaller, but a little more shiny. A moving cart neatly holds wooden handles and metal needles attached with silk thread. A dark shawl drapes over her shoulders along with a thin, gray dress.

Hanzo speaks again to the woman, calling her Mameha. She doesn’t seem very earnest about what Hanzo asks her. Weariness flips through her dark eyes as she takes in all three of their forms. The Shimada Clan must not be what it once was, but the people of Hanmura still know their name. Slowly, as Hanzo continues speaking to her, she loses the edge of grimness for disdain.

There are only a few words Valentine doesn’t understand in their conversation. Guessing they have to do with the tattoos, Hanzo finally hands Mameha an envelope. She takes it gingerly before lifting the lap. Her expression doesn’t change, but she gives one final agreement.

She leaves the room for a moment before returning without the dark shawl. Finely done sleeves of flowery tattoos are exposed. Ordering Hanzo and Genji out, Mameha sets to preparing. Genji asks his daughter in English if she will be alright. A near jolt of anxiety shoots through her at truly beginning, but she nods him away.

This is part of her responsibility. The ink will bleed into her skin and remind of the power within her limbs.

She removes her shirt. The cool, dawn air chills her skin as she’s left in just a sports bra before Mameha covers her chest with a blanket. Lying down, her heart beats heavily against her sternum. Excitement cools into bracing for the ink. Handling a bowl, Mameha works in a chair beside the table Valentine lays on.

“You have two red dragons,” she speaks in English.

“Yes,” Valentine speaks after a moment. Shifting, she tries to settle the nervousness in her muscles.

“The Young Master—no, Hanzo, told me to give you two sleeves and use red. Is that what you want?” Her voice is flat, but, curious.

She nods. The skin over her arms prickle with goosebumps at the thought.

She will be here for two whole days. Endurance and patience must be with her.

“Do you want them in here with you? I can kick them out if not,” Mameha almost grins.

A yes yearns to burst from her lips, but Valentine stalls for a moment. Instead, she declines her offer kindly. Not having her father here shouldn’t be taxing, but, a quiet place in her heart still wants him.

After a few more minutes of preparation, Mameha calls for Genji and Hanzo. They slide back the door as they both take seats. His green visor calms Valentine’s breaths as the blue ink on Hanzo’s left arm gives her promise.

A needle pierces her skin, but Valentine clenches her jaw. Immediately, an oath plunges into her mind to not make a noise of pain. Casually, Mameha speaks to Hanzo while carefully pressing the needle over her collarbones and shoulders. The distraction lets her wonder what their relationship is as the hours slowly trickle by. They seem to be friends, or at least, not enemies.

Genji mostly stays silent as Mameha never directly speaks to him. She’s probably written him off as an omnic as most others do. Genji gives Valentine sips of water when she asks, and they stop at noon to eat. All through the evening, Mameha continues on with the needle. By midnight, her first tattoo is finished.

“You didn’t squirm or cry,” she comments as she tugs her shirt back on.

“Do you wish I did?” Valentine asks.

A playful smile tugs at the corners of her wrinkled lips, “No. You’re making my job easier.”

The next day, Mameha’s progress never slows. Staying close to his daughter’s side, Genji acts like an island in the middle of a choppy sea. Hanzo keeps conversation with Mameha from time to time, asking about other dealings in Hanamura and the Shimada Clan. The skin deep piercing slowly becomes a constant sensation that falls to the back of her mind.

Pain still nails her teeth together, but, it’s less apparent. An inner monologue of seeing herself with the dragon tattoos holds her will.  

Again, they finish before midnight. Her jaw unhinges with a creak. The sting deep in her skin slowly fades. She pulls her shirt back on before Hanzo and Genji come back in. Breathing out and relaxing the muscles of her face, Valentine slowly sits up. Genji’s hand shoots out to hover over her back, should she suddenly decide to pass out. Stretching her arms out in front of her, red ink covers her skin. The sleeves of her dark shirt only allow the red ink to peek out past her elbows, but she knows more is waiting behind the cloth. Her fists are loosely held as she turns and admires the raw, electrifying designs of dragons twisting down her arms.

“As good as my master, no?” Mameha asks, prideful.

“It is well done,” Hanzo agrees. His gaze falls slowly over the red blooming across her arms and shoulders, as if remembering when he received his own.

A sudden wave of somberness washes over Valentine. These aren’t just colorful drawings on her body. The ink depicts spirit beasts coming alive and devouring whoever lies before her. She will carries these for the rest of her days. With them, she will fight with the dragons.

Genji looks to her for a moment, no longer seeing an infant with her name. He touches her hair, smoothing the bangs out of her eyes as a hidden smile warms her mouth.

Pink marks her skin from the sharp needles. Sensitive, but lively, Valentine tugs down her sleeves to hide the tattoos. With only a one worded goodbye, the night takes them back once more. Mameha watches them silently from the doorway until they disappear out of sight.

Her skin shivers with energy and something new. Strength floods her heart like blood. The weary future glares down, but she stares back with red tattoos and spirit dragons.

The Orca waits for their return. A gasp falls from Tracer’s lips as she finds the start of red ink crawling up Valentine’s arms. She calls them lovely. Pride swells in her chest. Before they take off, Valentine changes into a black tank top with a heavy jacket. She leaves it mostly unzipped, and lets the top half fall down to her elbows.

Hanzo hums a brief note of humor at her fascination. Most of the flight back to the watchpoint is spent with her chin tucked down and mesmerizing the scales dancing across her collarbones. Her skin is still tender, but the ink is fierce.

The tattoo on her uncle’s arm impressed upon her mind from an early age the importance of the dragons. It showed the strength he carried, and the power he could call forward. The first time she heard Genji shout, and draw out his dragon with his sword, she was mesmerized. The power glowing in his green visor was unmistakable.

She blinks once, struck with disbelief before touching her brand new skin.

They come over water, nearing the watchpoint. Valentine fishes out two of the three pink cherry blossom petals she saved. Tilting his green visor, Genji admires the petals in between her thumb and finger.

“Do you miss Hanamura?” she asks quietly.

A stillness over takes him before he signs and gently plucks one petal from her grasp. He soothes it in between metallic fingers.

Yes,” he breathes, “but not as much as I miss your mother, or Taro, or you when I’m not there.”

The light in his visor is soft. A small smile grows on her lips as he gives back the one petal. Somehow, she feels the same. Hanzo’s gaze falls over the pieces of the cherry blossom trees but doesn’t linger. She doesn’t ask him the same thing. She wants to though, later.

Tracer lands the Orca as she’s done a thousand times before. She chirps one more congratulations to her as they step onto solid ground. Her family waits a little ways beyond the open bay doors.

Genji and Hanzo stand at her back as Valentine takes off her jacket. A warm summer breeze cools the fresh ink on her skin. The sun greets the deep and twisting red as she holds herself strong. It may just be her own conscious choice, but even her shoulders hold straighter with what lies in her heart.

Her mother’s face opens with quiet awe. They both walk forward before stopping mere inches away. As if holding a steel rod in her spine, Valentine presents herself like a warrior. Upright, proud, and firm. Mercy holds her gaze, as if truly seeing her for the first time.

“Valentine.” She smiles, but sorrow touches the edge of her eyes, as if about to let a cherished dove fly out of her hands. “I’ve forgotten how much you’ve grow.”

“Mom,” she says, “My dragons are a part of me. I can call them out now.”

“I always knew they were. You’re so much like your father,  _herzchen_ ,” she murmurs.

Mercy’s hands reach out, trailing down her arms before taking her daughter’s hands. She stills, presenting her brand new arms. Studying the designs, several fleeting emotions dash through Mercy’s eyes. Pride. Happiness. Fear. Worry. Love. All rotating as if she can’t pick just one.

“Red is beautiful on you.” The sentence alone softens Valentine’s cheeks as Mercy lifts her head. Leaning forward, she kisses her forehead.

“Thanks, Mom,” she gets through her throat without sounding too thick as she pulls away.  

Mercy steps to the side after tucking her bangs behind her ear. Almost tentatively, Taro steps forward with a faint smile.

“Wow,” he says, subtly drinking in the red dragons on her arms. “You look like you lead a gang.”

Valentine smiles as she crosses her arms, “I could if I wanted to.”

He makes a ‘pfff’ sound with his lips as he shakes his head. The next moment, Jacqueline comes around her from behind. Valentine hadn’t noticed her slip behind to greet her father before coming back to her. Black curls slip over her shoulders from her long ponytail as she looks up and down her arms.

“That’s gorgeous, Valentine,” she admires. Her dark eyes shine as she takes her in. Uncrossing her arms, Valentine puts her hands on her hips as to display the designs better. “Did the dragons accept your offerings?”

The faint, smokey smell of agarwood touches her nose. Distance roars fill her mind as she levels her gaze at her cousin. Something red nearly glows in her eyes when she lifts her chin and answers, “Yes.”


End file.
